


The Life of Richard Brooke

by robinasnyder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Richard Brooke is Jim's twin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinasnyder/pseuds/robinasnyder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson meets Richard Brooke outside the morgue at St. Barts. While John waits to see Sherlock's body, Richard waits to see Jim Moriarty's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John felt the quiet, unassuming pat on his shoulder before he heard the voice. "Excuse me." It was the voice of the last man he wanted to hear from. John's head shot up, snarling at the image of Jim Moriarty, still dressed in those stupid jeans and shirt and stupid red cardigan, like it made him any less Jim Moriarty and any less dangerous. Sherlock's dead body on Molly Hooper's autopsy table was the proof of that.

"Came to gloat?" John snarled. "What more could you possibly want? He's dead already!"

"I know," said the voice again, soft, still as Richard Brooke. "I'm sorry."

"Stop lying!" John hissed, looking around for witnesses or cameras, or that bitch Kitty Riley. He didn't see anyone. No one was even paying attention to the little bench sitting outside the morgue.

"May I sit down?" again with the soft, unassuming voice.

"Oh please," John said, holding out his hand to welcome the other man, though his tone couldn't have been more sarcastic.

"I'm very sorry for what happened to your friend Dr. Watson," the soft voice said. He cast his eyes to the adjacent wall, not looking at John at all. "It's not as if there weren't other losses as well."

"What, you lost your greatest rival?" John spat.

"No, my brother," the voice said. Wide brown eyes cast over at John. "I'm very sorry for what my lie did… Jim didn't tell me what it would do… but then I didn't ask. I am so sorry."

"What the hell are you on about?" John asked, utterly confused. He would have snapped at the man for playing Richard Brooke again, except that he'd said 'Jim'.

"I'm really not Jim Moriarty. I really am an actor called Richard Brooke."

"Bullshit," John said.

"It's true," he said. He looked at John for just a minute before looking away. "The lie was that Jim Moriarty wasn't real."

"Yes, you're clearly not real."

"Richard Brooke is my stage name," the man said, glancing at John with his large brown eyes again for just a second. "My name, my birth name anyway, is Richard Moriarty… Jim Moriarty's younger twin."

"Excuse me, what?" John asked, cocking his head to the side.

The man smiled, big and sad. "I know, sounds insane, sounds like a lie. I understand if you don't believe me." His fingers tapped nervously in his knee. Sherlock would have recognized it as the 'code' Moriarty left in his apartment. John only saw it as a nervous habit. Richard saw it as move he'd copied from his brother for his last big act.

"I have no reason to believe you."

"Exactly," the man said, turning to look at John in earnest. "But I really am Richard Brooke. Jim called me… a month ago… he called me and said that if I'd do one big act for him that I would be free of him forever. I jumped at the chance… I just didn't expect it to be like this."

"Sherlock is dead because of you."

"In part, I will admit… I will carry that guilt forever, I'm sure," he said. "Though, more blame lays with Jim I'm afraid. He always laughed at me for believing in God, but I doubt he's laughing now… though maybe," Richard said, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He slumped down a bit. He looked like just a normal man. "Probably laugh his ass off in the beginning, because he didn't expect it… I really hate the thought, you understand?"

"No," John said, completely missing what this man was talking about.

"My brother's dead, Dr. Watson. They sent people up to the roof to see if there was any evidence about why he jumped… and they found Jim's body," he said. His voice was so steady, not that there wasn't emotion in it, very complicated emotion. "They recognized his face from the trial and from the article Ms. Reilly put out. They contacted her to try and get in contact with my family. She called my phone, not believing I was dead. I'm not sure when I'll tell her I had a brother… I rather hate telling her. Maybe I'll tell someone else," he mused out loud.

"I don't understand," John said. He was following all the words. He understood, it was just hard to integrate.

"Jim Moriarty was my big brother," Richard said, looking over at John. Richard had Moriarty's face, his voice, his body, everything. He just seemed too… kind. He was too unassuming, too sweet to be Jim Moriarty.

"He got you to play yourself to tell a lie?" John asked, trying to understand.

"My brother has always been… very cruel. I was the first person he practiced taking apart. He's the reason I became an actor… I'm a better actor than he will ever be, because he never had to hold up to his own scrutiny," Richard said, looking over at John. He was still leaned against the wall, but he'd dragged his knee up his chest, holding it in place with his hands. "He didn't hire me to play myself. He hired me to play him playing me. It is possibly the hardest role I've ever had… likely my last after this mess."

"I'm sorry," John said, not sounding it at all.

Richard smiled. "People are selfish, we think about ourselves first it takes extraordinary others to make us think of them first," he said. "My brother offered me a deal, because this had to be perfect. Not even Sherlock Holmes could realize there was a brother. It had to be perfect. It was perfect, a lie hidden in a lie. Everything else was true, so it became easy to swallow. Sherlock Holmes is a fact, but the rest is real, so people will believe it. It's told by Richard Brooke, the actual Richard Brooke… the only lie about him being that he's not Jim Moriarty."

"He's only playing the part," John said. "That was you there, that night."

"And it was my brother up on the roof," Richard said. "I'm so… so sorry Dr. Watson."

"Why are you telling me this?" John asked, taking a really good look at Richard Brooke, the man who's lie had helped to kill Sherlock Holmes.

"Because I thought someone should tell you that Jim was dead," Richard said. "It seemed kinder than to not let you know."

"You've told me," John snapped. "You can go now."

"I told you," Richard said. "Jim was discovered on the roof… they need someone to confirm the body," he said quietly. He went completely silent, looking away.

They sat in silence for a long time, neither looking at the other. John wondered if anyone would mourn the death of Jim Moriarty besides his brother. He wasn't even sure that Richard was mourning Jim Moriarty. He seemed very sad, but Richard Brooke was still Moriarty's brother, and John didn't exactly trust their emotions. Richard had admitted that he was a better actor than his brother.

"Dr. Watson."

Both of their head's shot up as Mycroft Holmes came around the corner. John was about to stand and punch Mycroft for even daring to show up. He felt a firm, steadying hand on his knee, and realized that Richard Brooke was holding him back. There wasn't even a lot of force, but John knew he wasn't going to stand.

"Mr. Holmes," Richard said, standing instead. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, making him look even more unassuming than he did before. Jim Moriarty looked like that. He was easy to underestimate. The stance made John wary. Mycroft clearly noted it too, because he shifted, just a bit. John wouldn't have even realized that Mycroft was on guard, except that he knew the Holmes brothers too well.

"Mr. Brooke." Mycroft says.

"I want my brother's phone back," Richard says, holding out his hand. He smiled pleasantly. John is impressed by the balls this type of move would take, especially since everything in Richard's stance indicates that he knows exactly who Mycroft Holmes is.

"You will receive the person affects your brother had on his person at the time of his death when the investigation is finished, as is policy," Mycroft said.

"Yes, but I know you have Jim's phone right now, in your left pocket, because your hand keeps going to it absentmindedly because you aren't used to it being there," Richard said. His tone was very polite. "I can always call the guards and say you stole from the deceased, in the middle of an investigation. I'm sure you can clean it up, but it'll probably be more hassle than you wish."

"Since you seem to understand the situation so well, you do well to know that your brother's activities have been under investigation."

"My brother never keep anything very important on his phone, nothing someone could hack into," Richard said. "Besides that, you'll never be able to get in without the password."

"Do you have the password?" Mycroft asked.

"I have my password," Richard said. "My brother's phone please."

To John's surprise, Mycroft reached into his pocket and produced the plain black phone, dropping it into Richard's hands. Richard keyed in a combination before pulling his phone out from his pocket. His phone was much more beaten and old, but it was compatible enough for Richard to copy the data from Jim's phone to his own. He handed Mycroft the phone back after that.

"Did you get what you needed?" Mycroft asked

"People need to be contacted by Jim's death," Richard said simply. "I got the numbers I needed. You're not going to find them, don't bother trying to. Even if you do fine them, they people I contact will have changed their numbers by then," Richard said.

"Of course," Mycroft said, slipping the phone back in his pocket.

"Have you seen him?" Richard asked.

"Yes."

"Are you sure it's him?"

"We'll running tests for a while. You may have the body when we're finished," Mycroft said. "You'll want a proper funeral, of course."

"The last thing I can do to piss him off, I suppose," Richard said, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

"Dr. Watson," Mycroft said, looking at John, who finally stood. "They'll let you see him now."

"You saw him first."

"Immediate family," Mycroft said. "I'm sorry," he said softly. John simply glared at him. He moved passed Richard Brooke and Mycroft Holmes, going to see the body of his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

John's eyes were red and sore when he finally left Sherlock's side. Molly Hooper had stood with him even after Mycroft had left. She looked sad, but solid. John vaguely wondered if she had cried earlier, or if she was just stronger than he'd thought. It didn't matter much. He wasn't ashamed for the pain he felt. It was too real, too new. Seeing Sherlock lying there made John sure he hadn't been dreaming. Sherlock's body was freezing cold, though Molly had cleaned up the blood and closed his eyes. He'd looked like he was sleeping. John chuckled darkly at that thought. That was how he knew Sherlock was really dead. Sherlock didn't sleep.

"Is it him?" that horrible voice asked.

John's head shot up, seeing Richard Brooke sitting on the bench where John had left him before. John breathed through his nose, trying to clear the air way. "Yeah, it's him," John said.

"I'm sorry," Richard said. "I kind of hoped it was a lie… you know… It's Jim's kind of humor."

"Not very funny," John muttered.

"Exactly," Richard said.

"Why are you here?"

"They uh… haven't let me back yet," Richard said awkwardly. "Would you like to see him to?"

John let out a hollow laugh. "What am I going to do with the body of Jim Moriarty?"

"Dr. Watson, please," Richard said, clasping his hands together. "I just… I don't want to go by myself. I don't care if you laugh over his body… but I can't go in there by myself."

John took a step back, thrown by the genuineness in the voice and body of Moriarty. "Okay," John said, looking up when someone came to get them.

"Mr. Brooke?" the nurse asked. "You can see him now."

"Thank you," Richard said with a very pleasant smile. John felt a pull in his gut from seeing it. Great actor indeed.

The nurse took them back to the morgue. It was a familiar place to John. He'd trained there when he'd studied at St. Bart's. He also spent a particular amount of time there with Sherlock. The nurse left them right before the room, and John had to be the one to push open the door. Richard was hesitating, shaking just a bit.

"You okay?" John asked quietly.

Richard shook his head. "Dead things just bother me."

Well then, not like Jim much at all, it seemed. John held the door open after stepping in, letting Richard in after him. They were both greeted with the sight of Molly bent over Jim Moriarty's dead body. She seemed to be carefully fixing his hair, smoothing down the bangs as if she were doing it for a loved one.

"Molly?" John asked. The gasp and clatter that followed was to be expected.

"I'm so sorry!" Molly gasped, picking up the bowl she'd dropped. "I heard someone had come to get him and I just thought how much he hated having his hair messed up. I cleaned Sherlock up, like I do with all the others, and it just seemed wrong not to," she stammered, not looking up and she cleaned up the spilled instruments.

"No, it's fine. Jim would probably like that," Richard said.

Molly looked up from where she was kneeling on the floor and fell back on her bottom, looking stunned. "J-jim!" She stammered, looking between the very alive man and the body she'd been just dealing with.

Richard smiled sadly and walked over. He bent down and gathered the instruments Molly had dropped and settled them back into the bowl they belonged in. He placed the bowl on the table next to his brother's body, then he offered Molly a hand. "Richard," he said. "Jim's brother," he said.

"Oh," Molly said, looking a bit shaken as Richard pulled her up. She dusted herself off, looking down at Jim's body for a moment.

"Did you know him?" Richard asked.

"Yes, I mean, kind of, I…" Molly trailed off. "How?"

"You called him Jim," Richard said with a smile. "It doesn't take a great mind to figure it out," he added, seeming to want to dissuade Molly of the notion that he was his brother.

"Yes we uh… sort of dated," she said.

"Meaning he pretended to be someone else and strung you around for a few weeks until he got bored and ended things," Richard said, his tone dull. Molly winced. John felt like he would have too in her position. Molly had often been treated as second to everyone else. It must have been had to hear how often Moriarty did exactly what he did to her.

"Actually," she said tentatively. "I'm the one who ended it."

"Really?" Richard asked, surprised and suddenly very interested. "And he didn't come after you again?"

"No, why would he?" Molly asked, obviously deflating a bit.

"No one, no one breaks up with my brother," Richard said simply. "He's too possessive to just let people go," he said, sighing. He turned to the body as if seeing it for the first time. He looked really uncomfortable. Really, they did look exactly alike. Richard was scruffier where Jim was more neatly trimmed, but it looked like Richard was looking at his own dead body. "May I borrow a pair of gloves."

"Oh, yes," Molly said, jolting out of her stupor from the sight before John. She bustled over to where the gloves were, handing them to Richard when she returned. He pulled them on expertly and carefully cradled Moriarty's head. Richard slipped his hand under his twin's head, clearly slipping his fingers into the wide open hole that the bullet had left. Richard sighed and slipped the gloves off before grabbing Jim's left arm and lifting it. He ran two fingers across the inside, looking for something.

"I thought you were bothered by dead bodies," John said.

"I'm a very good actor," Richard said and he lay the arm down and started to pull the sheet down. He ran his hands over Jim's torso. "Plus, being uncomfortable and unused to are two very different things." He sighed again and flicked the sheet down, barring the body's left him where a very visible scar was. Richard sighed for a third time and covered the body up to its neck as if tucking Jim Moriarty in for a nap.

"Is it him?" John asked.

"No one would survive such a wound," Richard said. "There's the chicken pox scar on his left arm from when we were three, and the one on the right side of his abdomen, and the scar on his hip from where he impaled himself on the play set when we ten…. This is my brother," he said.

He suddenly stumbled back a bit and John caught him before he felt. "You okay?"

"I am… I'm sorry… I just… I didn't expect him to be real!" Richard gasped, gripping onto John for a minute before pulling himself up.

"Would you like to sit down?" Molly suggested, also nearing Richard. The man just exuded the feeling of someone who needed to be cared for.

"No," Richard said, "Thank you," he added quickly. "You know… one time, for a play I had a part where the character's brother killed himself. I was supposed to discover his body… but I had such a hard time with it. I thought that… I would be happy if Jim were dead… looks like I was wrong," he murmured. He straightened himself up and bent over the dead body, leaning down and pressing a very gentle kiss to Moriarty's forehead. "I love you so much, you complete idiot," Richard said.

He straightened up, and sighed heavily before heading for the door. "I'll go after him," John told Molly.

"I didn't expect…" But she couldn't say it. She didn't need to.

"I know," John said, following after Richard Brooke.


	3. Chapter 3

Richard didn't go very far. He was waiting for John out in the hall, back at the bench again. John slowed his walk down, nearly stopped when Richard looked up at him and grinned in the most disconcerting and boyish way possible. "Let's go to the roof," Richard said. John jerked back a little, getting a full dose of memory of Jim Moriarty. Richard didn't seem to care, he grabbed John's wrist and dragged him up to the roof.

John wanted to protest that he didn't want to go where Sherlock jumped, that it was too soon, that he was afraid of heights or it was against his religion or something. The only thing that came out of John's mouth was air. Richard was a force of nature. The second John was about to say something, Richard would turn around and beam at John, or cast him the saddest expression, or let out a pitiful sound. Everything Richard did was perfectly calculated to keep John from being able to protest or pull away.

Maybe at first glance the Moriarty twins didn't seem too much alike, but John was sure that Richard could get anyone to do anything just as well if not better as Jim Moriarty. John also thought that it would be possibly even more impossible to tell if Richard were lying. Richard had an earnestness in every move he made, even when he was expressing two opposite emotions only seconds apart. John wasn't even sure that Richard wasn't feeling two different emotions close together. Honestly, John was torn between a certain giddiness that Jim Moriarty was actually dead, and a crushing sadness that Sherlock was dead as well.

They arrived at the roof and Richard let go for John's hand. He dropped all pretense of happiness or sadness and just became very blank. He started walking around, search for something. He didn't have to search for long. "My brother died here," Richard said, standing next to a blood stain on the roof. There was so much blood, as well as brain matter and bits of bone and hair.

"It's really him then?" John asked.

Jim smiled, but it was at best pained. "It's hard to believe, isn't it?" Richard asked, moving to sit cross legged on the ground by the stain. "A part of me thinks that Jim will pop up later."

"And you can't tell if you want it to be true or not," John said. He didn't observe people like Sherlock, but that didn't mean that he couldn't read the signs.

"I did any and everything I could to separate us," Richard admitted. "He wanted to keep me, like a pet I think. Our parents were… well, better not to talk about the family, really. I was possibly the closest thing Jim would ever have to a friend. I love him because I have to, Dr. Watson… but I was also his first toy and I forget that I have scars from before he figured out how to hide his work." There was a terrible hardness in Richard's voice.

"I'm surprised he didn't keep you close," John admitted.

"I was one of his aliases," Richard said. "It's great, having a man living two different lives with two different bodies. Besides that, Jim didn't like being known. He worked very hard to make sure that while I continued to get work, that I would never get a lot of recognition for it," Richard said.

"Oh yeah, awful," John said, rolling his eyes. It suddenly just hit him all over again what Richard did.

"I'm sorry," Richard said. "I seriously am."

"Everyone thinks Sherlock's a fake," John snarled.

"So what?" Richard asked.

"So what?" John snapped.

"Everyone thinks that I my brother is me," Richard said. He sighed, propped his chin on his palm. "Dr. Watson, you're making the same mistake that my brother did… You take away a man's good name, and his career is over. That's the rule right? But that's not true at all. Sometimes it is true, but a person's life isn't over. I don't know why Mr. Holmes did what he did, but I'm sure my brother had a hand in it. I'm also sure that if he'd stayed alive that he could have beaten it, especially his my brother blew his brains out," Richard said.

"You really think he can just come back from this kind of blow?" John asked.

"Better too, stronger, because he'll finally be seen as he is. Sherlock Holmes is never going to be a hero," Richard said. "He's not that kind of man. My brother complained about Mr. Holmes being on the side of the angels, but Jim seems to have forgotten the idea of the anti-hero."

"You talk like Sherlock's just a part you can play," John said.

"Oh, don't be insulted, that's how I see everything," Richard said. He smiled, and it was very blank. "We're all actors, projecting what we want the world to see and trying to play a part we create for ourselves. Our humiliation comes when our act is exposed, when we're caught acting. To quote the bard: all the world's a stage, and the people merely players."

"I'm still not convinced you aren't Moriarty," John said.

"You don't have to believe me," Richard said, pushing himself up to be standing. "Jim's my big brother. You think anyone walks away from that sane and whole?" he asked with a laugh. "You should see me when I've got no one to act for."

"What happens?" John asked.

John hated what he saw on Richard's face. It was nothing like Moriarty. The look on Richard's face was so troubled and tentative. "I really don't know," Richard admitted. "Please… don't try to see it."

"I don't plan to ever see you again after this," John said.

"That's fine," Richard said. "Though, you should come to Jim's funeral."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I don't know… to spit on his grave?" Richard asked with a shrug.

"You're out of your tree," John said, shaking his head. He still had no idea what Richard actually felt about Jim Moriarty.

"Completely possible… say, do you know if Dr. Hooper is seeing anyone?"

"Wait, what?"

"I'm thinking of asking her out… later, not over my brother's dead body, that would be creepy."

"Because going out with the woman who did his autopsy isn't at all odd," John snorted.

"Yeah… but she's really cute isn't she?" Richard asked with a grin. Like every other expression Richard pulled, it was so genuine looking.

"No a good idea to go out with her. Did you hear that the last guy she dated ended up dead?" John asked, smirking. Richard punched him. "Ow, that actually hurt."

"I'm small, I'm not pathetic," Richard said, rolling his eyes, but he was grinning. "Do you think she'll compare us both?"

"Is there anyone who doesn't?" John asked.

Richard sighed heavily. "Not anymore… no," he said quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

John didn't see Richard again until after Sherlock's funeral. In one passing moment John had half thought Richard would show up. John was glad he didn't. He didn't want anyone at the funeral who didn't actually belong as a friend of Sherlock's. Lestrade showed up, and Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly. Sarah showed up, smiling sadly and whispered about what an arse Sherlock had always been. John couldn't disagree. A handful of Sherlock's old clients showed up as well. It was a small service, but the people who came were people who truly believed that Sherlock was real.

John's grief hadn't eased any, he was sure. His pain didn't feel any less, he just felt day and day more like he could breathe. Grief worked like that sometimes. You didn't get over it, you just learned how to cohabitate with it. A week passed from the day he had to bury Sherlock Holmes, and Dr. John Watson didn't feel any better or less in pain than he had the day he saw Sherlock's blood spill across the pavement.

He had moved to a new flat, a very small two room place that combined kitchen, living room, and bedroom, and the WC was in the same room as the shower. John didn't care. Nothing reminded him of Sherlock and he liked it that way. The only problem was that the entire building had one washing machine and no line to dry clothes. It made washing his things a real pain, and he already had a selection of his suits hanging up on the pole that should have held a shower curtain.

The only other problem was that he didn't know were very basic things were in proximity to his flat. He hadn't figured out where he could get food late at night yet. He'd figured out where the internet café was, though the prices were insane, even for a small cup of tea. Too bad his flat didn't have internet. He was still looking for things like the dry cleaners.

The day he met Richard Brooke again, John had been looking for a Tesco. In fact, he'd just found it when Richard Brooke and Kitty Reilly walked out of it. John stiffened instantly when he saw them. Richard noticed next, and offered only a very shy and very small smile. Kitty was the one with the big reaction. She offered a predatory grin.

"Dr. Watson, so good to see you again," she said, walking up to him. "I was wondering if there were any words you'd like to say about Sherlock Holmes fall?" She asked.

"Sod off," John said. He had a problem with being particularly mean to women, but he legitimately couldn't think of a single woman he'd ever hated so much as this one. He still censored himself, but more out of habit than because he was trying to spare her feelings.

"There's nothing you want to say about the false detective?" she asked.

"There was nothing false about him," John said, looking her up and down. He couldn't read her like Sherlock could, but she was rather obvious. "Unlike you. Did you buy that whole outfit with money you got from your new articles? A bit tacky isn't it? Profiting off someone's death."

"It's not tacky when you're telling the truth, unlike you and your blog," she said. "Why don't you just admit it? There's plenty of evidence to prove that I'm right."

"None that Moriarty couldn't make up."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Moriarty is a fairy tale."

"You think a man who could call himself the world's only consulting criminal couldn't fake a new identity?" John snorted. "You really are stupid."

"Dr. Watson, please," Richard said, clearly deciding that breaking in before the argument escalated. "How was the funeral?"

"Good," John said shortly. "You didn't show up."

"I didn't think it was appropriate. I thought about it, but I thought I might pull focus," Richard admitted. John nodded.

"You weren't needed," John agreed.

"Ms. Reilly, would you mind heading home without me. I'll carry the sodas home," he added, switching bags with her easily. "I just want to talk with Dr. Watson alone, please?" he asked, with his most disarming smile. She didn't seem happy about it. She wanted to stay and see what other information she could get to publish. Still, she left, unable to turn Richard's sweet smile down.

"You're still living her?" John asked.

"Where else am I to go?" Richard asked, setting the soda down on ten pavement. "My flat's been sublet already, and I'm not interested in staying in Jim's."

"No, I can't see that as a good idea… Moriarty had a flat in London?"

"A penthouse suite," Richard said. He rolled his eyes, glancing after Kitty, who had stopped to look back at them.

"Of course," John scoffed, looking after Kitty as well who stopped pretending to be looking at a flower stand to continue on her way now that she'd been discovered. "She's not in much of a mood, is she?"

"She's upset that I started calling her Ms. Reilly again," Richard said with a sigh. "She also knows that I'm hiding something from her. I stopped playing my part. I'm polite now, but I stopped being affectionate with her. She's also upset that she can't get me in bed."

"A predator," John said.

"In every sense of the word. I keep being reminded why Jim needed me for this job; he'd have killed her a long time ago."

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" John asked.

"Not on purpose. I dropped something off a very high balcony once. The man was already sick, though, so it wasn't my thing that killed him, but he did die in response to the shock," Richard explained. He smiled weakly. "It's a bit of a dull story, actually. I was drunk at a party Jim had thrown but couldn't come to."

"Sounds very dull," John said, rolling his eyes.

"Dreadfully," Richard said. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know how to get in touch with Mycroft Holmes, would you?" he asked.

"Sort of yes, why?" John asked.

"I still have no news on Jim's body. I got his clothes and effects back a few days ago, but not his body. I can't even begin to plan a funeral until I know when I'll be able to claim the body," Richard said.

"You still haven't gotten him back? Hasn't he been dead over a week," John asked. Of course he knew the exact date. How could he forget?

"Yes, exactly," Richard said. "So, you know how I can find Mycroft Holmes?"

"Well… I do know one way," John said. He didn't actually have Mycroft's phone number, but he knew how to find him easy enough. "He frequents the Diogenes' Club."

"Ah," Richard said. "How do I go about getting in there?"

"You walk in and don't say anything," John said. "You're not really allowed to speak inside."

"Hm," Richard said, mulling over that particular bit of information. "Alright then, I think I have a plan, but I need you there with me."

"Me? Why?"

"Because I think I'm a bit less likely to get arrested if you're there."

"Is there anything I need to do?"

"Show up," Richard said with a shrug.

"So, all I have to do is show up and I can help bother Mycroft and possibly see you get arrested at the same time?" John asked.

"Yeah, that's the gist of it," Richard said with a shrug. "Will you come?"

"What time will you be leaving?"

Richard smiled, just a bit. "Tomorrow, at about two thirty, I think. I'll text you the address."

"You don't have my number," John said, seeing Richard picking up his bags and making now move to get out a cell phone.

"As far as all but four people in this city know, I'm Jim Moriarty, which means it's going to be painfully easy for me to find," Richard said. "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't be late."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

John vaguely wondered where exactly Richard was sending him to, but he had a pretty good idea when he finally arrived. The man who buzzed him in sent him to the elevator and told him just to ride to the top. Penthouse suite. In the most expensive building of flats in London. Richard was meeting John at Jim Moriarty’s old flat. 

John thought this was possibly why he didn’t have a heart attack upon opening the door and seeing Jim Moriarty fussing with the lapel of the grey suit he’d worn for his trial. “I’m not sure about this one.” 

“You look fine,” the man on the sofa said. John recognized him instantly, though they’d both been soldiers in Afghanistan at the time, and John had only spoken to the man for a minute. 

“Colonel Moran,” John said, shutting the door behind him. 

“Captain Watson,” Moran said, barely looking at John at all. He reclined back on the sofa, before taking a deep drag on his cigarette. 

“Did my brother ever let you smoke in here?” Richard asked, clearly agitated as he fiddled with his suit. 

“He smoked, I didn’t,” Moran said, glancing over at John. “You had your nutcase, I had mine,” he said simply. Really, John didn’t need much more explanation than that. John doubted Colonel Moran had anything like the relationship John had with Sherlock. Knowing Moran’s near legendary skills with a gun, John could guess very easily what Moran did for Moriarty. 

“Then why are you bothering now?” Richard asked, clearly annoyed. He shot Moran a glare and Moran put his cigarette out. 

“It’s either take up a new habit or go back to drinking,” Sebastian said. 

“Addicts,” Richard muttered, rolling his eyes. He grabbed a comb from the coffee table where a bunch of other products sat and started to brush his hair, assuring that it was probably slicked back, Moriarty fashion. “Why would you ever allow yourself to lose control to something outside of yourself? In your case, one cigarette could get you caught.” 

“I don’t smoke,” Sebastian said. “Besides, it’s not like you chose to be addicted to something, you just are.” 

“Like having herpes,” Richard said. “Just because you can’t help it, doesn’t mean you should have done whatever you did to get it.” 

“I don’t know if it’s Moriarty’s suits or what, but you’re really starting to sound like him.” 

“It’s called getting unto the role. Does this look right?” Richard asked, spinning around so both John and Moran could see him. 

“Yes,” John and Moran said at the same time. Besides the fact that Richard couldn’t have looked more like his brother physically, Richard in a suit looked every bit like Jim Moriarty. Richard’s agitation probably helped that. 

“You’re both idiots,” Richard declared with a disgusted snort and turned back to the mirror. He ripped off the suit jacket and tossed it at Moran, who caught it easily. Richard removed his tie, starting to retie it. 

“So, you’re planning to walk into The Diogenes’ as your brother?” John asked. 

“Something like that,” Richard said. 

“You know, isn’t he perfectly good to go with you?” John asked, nodding at Moran. Richard’s eyes flicked up to look at John in the mirror.

“Sebastian,” Richard said. 

“Richard feels that if I tell him one more time that he should take over for Jim that he might actually resort to violence for the first time in his life, and he doesn’t want to ruin his manicure,” Moran said. John glanced at Richard, who was glaring into the mirror. 

“I’m an actor, not a consultant, for anything,” Richard said. 

“Then act like a consultant,” Moran said, cross his arms and propping his feet up on the coffee table. 

“I know Jim would never let you put your feet on the furniture,” Richard said and Moran instantly put his feet down, sitting up straighter. 

“Richard, the tie is fine!” Moran snapped. Richard had started to retie it for the third time. “Look, why don’t I just come with you? If you need a guard, well, that’s been my job for a while now.” 

“For Jim,” Richard said, scrunching his nose. He continued to fidget with his tie. “Besides, do you want to be arrested? They get one whiff of what you did for Jim and they’ll drag you off to where ever they were holding him for all those months.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Sebastian said. 

Richard stopped and turned around to look at Sebastian. “No you won’t be. Sebastian Moran, you’re the only one of Jim’s men who is at all half way decent, and I’m not going to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for Mycroft Holmes to find you.” 

“You really hate Mycroft,” Sebastian said about the same time that John was realizing the same thing. John was just sort of standing there, feeling a bit like he was watching a show on telly and not real life. 

“He hurt my brother,” Richard said simply. 

Moran’s face broke into a grin and he shook his head. “You’re of a decent sort,” he said. 

“Thanks, I suppose,” Richard muttered. 

“The tie’s perfectly fine,” Moran said. “No one’s going to care anyway; you’re just playing a part.”

The glare Richard gave Moran could have stripped paint from the walls. “There’s no such thing as just playing a part,” Richard said, ripping the tie off with a ferocity that John wouldn’t was expected from the smaller man. He chided himself for that instantly. Richard could pack quiet a punch, and his brother was the most dangerous man in London… or had been.

Richard shifted his stance just a bit, and started to put the tie on. The way he did it was different this time. It was the same motions he’d preformed with agitation over and over again, creating a perfect knot every time. This time was different. His moves were much more deliberate. Each fold, each twist, each turn was exaggerated, but with purposed, well practiced speed and above all complete calm. He wasn’t just in control of his tie but of everything the in room. When Richard finished with his tie it was perfect like it had been each time before. Yet this time John didn’t see a trace of Richard, only of Moriarty. 

“A small detail can destroy everything,” Richard said, grabbing his jacket in one flowing move. He held it facing forward in front of him before flipping into over his head and onto both his arms simultaneous. “Martin Sheen had an injury from childhood that prevented him from being able to put on a coat normally, as such he found his own way to put his coat on, two arms at once. Jim always liked that. He picked up the habit when we were still in school, did you know that Sebastian?” Richard asked. 

Moran had stood up, at attention. Richard’s presence was demanding it. John didn’t know when Moran had stood simply because he’d been so focused on Richard. John felt on edge, like he was watching a predator, waiting for it to strike. Even now, watching Richard simply put on a tie pin with two interlocking flowers, the exact tie pin Jim had worn for his trial, John felt like he wanted to reach for his gun and shoot. 

“No, I didn’t know, sir,” Moran said. John wasn’t surprised at the tone. Richard had gone from being himself to completely immolating his brother. No wonder Moran wanted Richard to pretend to be Jim. 

“But you’ve seen him do it before, I imagine,” Richard said. Somehow he made the act of straightening his tie look threatening. 

“Yes, I have,” Moran said. 

“You have?” Richard asked, smirking. 

“Sir,” Sebastian said. 

Richard slipped his hands into his pockets and began to walk toward Moran. It was more like a cat leisurely prowling to its prey. He grabbed Moran’s chin, pressing his nails into the sensitive flesh. He dragged Moran down, smashing his lips against Moran’s. Moran looked shocked, but he didn’t dare pull away. 

“You were exactly my brother’s type, did you know that?” Richard breathed, his lips brushing against Moran’s. Moran’s body was completely stiff, not daring to so much as twitch, lest he catch the predator’s attention anymore. A silence stretched out, Richard clearly expecting an answer but Moran unwilling to speak. 

John cleared his throat. “Can we get this over with?” 

“Of course,” Richard chirped. He let go of Sebastian’s face, slipping his hand down the man’s chest, heading slowly for his crotch, so it seemed. John couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. It was a bad idea to take your eye off a wild animal, especially one that could attack at any moment. 

Sebastian’s breath hitched when Richard’s hand got to his belt. Yet instead of slipping under the belt, of even down between the ex-soldier’s legs, Richard’s hands slipped into Moran’s pocket. Moran let out a sigh of relief, the tension leaving his body when Richard drew out the keys and jangled them in front of Moran’s face. 

“Don’t look so scared. I’m not Jim after all, just his reject photocopy.” Something about the way Richard said the words told John that Jim had called Richard that. It actually made John angry. He didn’t trust Richard, not yet. But Moran was right; Richard was of a decent sort. “Let’s go, Doctor,” Richard said. 

The pair of them left, heading back down the lift to the basement level and the garage by extension. “So, what exactly am I doing?” John asked. 

“Whatever you feel like, I suppose. I’m not your master, after all,” Richard said, flashing John a grin as he found the car. Something about Richard’s grin made John feel sorry for Moran. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but he also didn’t try to figure out why. He let himself be taken in by the sight of the car. It was absolutely beautiful, classic, and unbelievably red. 

“Is this Moran’s car?” 

“Possibly,” Richard said, climbing into the driver’s seat. John honestly wished he could get a driver’s license just to have a chance at driving such a nice car. He let out a heartfelt sigh and climbed into the passenger’s side. “Buckle up, I’m a terrible driver,” Richard said, flashing a dangerously crazed grin and John buckled up instantly. 

Richard wasn’t lying about being a terrible driver. He drove at a speed that most dare devils would find daunting and seemed to know the roads of London even better than Sherlock. Whenever traffic seemed like it would slow them down Richard would turn a corner and magically find them a road that didn’t have cars. John wasn’t even sure that they were heading the right direction for the Diogenes’ club. It was possible that Richard was just enjoying driving. 

They finally did pull up outside the Diogenes’ club (or more skidded to a very impressively accurate if horrifying parallel park at a speed that most sane people wouldn’t think of traveling at). Richard got out, straightened himself and smirked, the bastard. John climbed out, calm as he’d ever been. As he and Richard walked up the stairs to the club, John had to question his enjoyment of danger. 

“Park it for me, will you Tommy,” Richard said, tossing his keys at the doorman, who caught the keys, looking quiet dumbfounded. Richard strode right into the club, finding a free seat. He sat down and poured himself a cup of tea, took a sip, winced and added two cubes of sugar. John simply settled on standing next to Richard while the other man stirred his tea and set the spoon aside. 

Outwardly, Richard wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was being very quiet, sitting in one place and sipping his tea. He even picked up the newspaper and quietly turned the pages. That didn’t mean that everyone in the room wasn’t staring at him. After a moment a servant came beckoning for John and Richard to follow. The servant took them to a private room, refilled Richard’s tea cup, and left. 

“Well,” John said, pour his own cup and finding a seat to sit down in. “That’s one way to get service in this place.” 

“Scare the hell out of people?” Richard asked, slouching in his seat. He’d clearly turned off Moriarty mode, which John realized he’d been in since the tie incident. Richard had toned the act down a few times to not upset John or Moran, but he’s been playing at being his brother even while driving the car like a fool. 

“Mr. Brooke,” Mycroft said as he entered the room. “I have been informed that you are making a nuisance of yourself.” 

“It’s a messy job, but someone has to do it,” Richard said, sipping his tea. 

“Dr. Watson,” Mycroft said, merely noting John’s presence as a courtesy, though he probably did wonder why John was with Moriarty’s twin. 

“Mycroft,” John said. 

“Mr. Brooke, I have already informed you that you will be contacted once your brother’s body is ready to be released.” 

“Yes, I know,” Richard said, his tone becoming ice cold, though not in any way like Moriarty when he was threatening people. “Of course, I know you know how to get in contact with me, since you had me pick him up after you’d had him tortured.” 

“There was, unfortunately. Not one else suitable.” 

“Shove it,” Richard said. “Tell me when I can bury him.” 

“We are running a number of tests to prove authenticity, including DNA, though there has been a rush, we plan to be sure,” Mycroft said. “Within a week, I should imagine.” He looked Richard in the eyes and didn’t so much as blink. “Are there arrangements you would like to be made?” 

“Yes,” Richard said, slipping a hand into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. He slipped across the coffee table to Mycroft, who bent down to take it. “I want his body sent to this crematorium,” Richard said. “Though I will see him again before the cremation,” Richard said. “Also, you’re footing the bill for the headstone. You owe me for the work I did patching him up after your boys were done with him.” 

“Duly noted,” Mycroft said, folding up the paper and slipping it in his pocket. 

“You know,” Richard said. “I’m not even sure dear Jim would have thought of using me for his last little scheme if you hadn’t shoved him on me, so thank you for that,” Richard said, sounding bitter. He stood up and glanced at John, who followed suit. “Have a good day.” 

Richard walked out and John followed him. They didn’t speak until they were in the car. Richard drove at a lot more normal speed, but he still picked back roads to go down that had no traffic. “Mycroft had you pick Moriarty up after he was released?” John finally asked. 

“It was awful Dr. Watson,” Richard said, his eyes firmly fixed on the road. “I mean, my brother’s no saint, and I’ve always been afraid of him… and I’ve hated him for as long as I can remember… but It was just… wrong to see him so hurt. He stayed with me for a full week before he’d even speak, and three weeks before he’d let me call Sebastian to come get him,” Richard said. His eyes and voice were distant, caught up in a memory. “He doesn’t even like me, but he couldn’t have anyone else see him like that.” 

“How bad?” John asked, swallowing a bit. He didn’t like seeing people hurt, even people he hated. He dealt with it, but the idea of Moriarty being so badly hurt made John actually feel bad for him. It was easier to think of that time when it came to being angry at Mycroft, actually thinking about the state Jim Moriarty must have been in made John’s stomach clench. 

“Bad,” Richard said, glancing at John and smiling weakly. “Thank you… for coming… this was one of the worst things I’ve ever had to do.” 

“As bad as patching him up?” John asked. 

Richard’s mouth twitched a bit and he sighed. “I hate acting like my brother… I get lost in my acts sometimes… I’m always afraid of what I’ll do when I play as Jim… but having you there made me nervous. I didn’t want to upset you more… I think if Sebastian had come with me that I would have lost myself,” he admitted. 

John listened to him. He didn’t disregard what Richard said, but he found that he wasn’t worried. It was encouraging that Richard actually worried about hurting people.”Don’t worry.” 

“Can’t help it,” Richard said, glancing at John. “Will you come to the funeral?” 

“How many people are coming?” John asked. 

“Not many, the priest, and Sebastian and Me… you I hope,” Richard said. He did look earnestly hopeful and John found that he didn’t want to tell Richard no, even thought John really didn’t want to go. 

“I’ll think about it,” John said. 

“Thank you,” Richard said. They lapsed into silence as Richard turned down another back road. The silence didn’t last long, though. “You should bring Ms. Hooper with you when you come.” 

“What, as my date?” John spluttered. 

“Well, she knew Jim too,” Richard said, pouting a bit. “Besides, I need a not creepy way to see her again.” 

“You’re really serious about asking her out,” John said, just figuring out how serious Richard must be. 

“Well… I mean she’s really cute, isn’t she… and she clearly found Jim attractive, so why not me too?” Richard asked. 

“I’m not sure it’s a great idea to ask her out over your brother’s grave.” 

“I don’t plan to ask her out then,” Richard scoffed. “If you must know, I plan to see if she’ll tell me about the Jim she knew,” he admitted. “Maybe we can get coffee… I’m not crazy enough to just ask her out.” 

“Just… be careful,” John said. “I don’t think she’s really been out with anyone sense then… not that Sherlock could have helped… but she always had a bad crush on Sherlock.” 

Richard smiled. “Thank you Dr. Watson… you really are of the decent sort… a lot better than most men I’ve ever met.”


	6. Chapter 6

Richard had a lot of bad memories associated with his brother. There were the times that Jim would steal something and leave Richard to take the blame. Richard had a police record and Jim didn't. There was the time that Jim boredly killed the kitten in front of him, the one that Richard had been caring for despite their parents telling them they couldn't have any pets. There was the time that Jim had tied Richard down to the bed and ripped out one Richard's ribs.

Richard had a lot of good memories associated with his brother too… or at least better than the bad. Richard would sometimes look back on the bad memories with a rosier eye. The year Richard spent in prison for one of Jim's thefts had been reduced from five, and had been in a minimum security facility. No one touched Richard during that time, though Richard knew he could have gotten hurt. The name Moriarty was already being whispered with a certain amount of fear with the inmates.

Richard found out later exactly what would have happened to him if his parents found out about the kitten. He'd watched the beating administered to Jim when their parents around the mouse Jim had been feeding. Jim's eyes had found Richard's during that punishment. The blank look had conveyed very clearly to Richard one absolute truth: Richard never could have held up under his parents abuse if Jim wasn't there to take the brunt of it.

Richard still had the rib Jim had popped out. He kept it in a shoe box with other things that were important to him: the tickets from the time their father took Richard and Jim to a football match. The picture of the first girl Richard had ever slept with. The tiger tooth that Sebastian had given Richard when he caught Richard admiring it. The picture of Richard and Jim at their third birthday party; Richard grinning like an idiot and Jim almost really smiling. The rib went in the box with everything else that Richard found important. It was a reminder that there was nothing that Richard couldn't withstand, and that there was nothing more terrifying in the world with Richard's own brother.

Yet the one memory that Richard had of his brother that he couldn't spin in a positive way was one of his last. Jim didn't even do anything to Richard that time, yet it still haunted Richard day and night. Richard had been afraid of his brother up until that point, yet there was a very real security in the idea that Jim was untouchable. Richard had truly believed that short of God, no one could touch Jim Moriarty. Then he learned differently/

He remembered that it was a Wednesday. That wasn't an important fact, but somehow he held onto that piece of knowledge more securely than just about anything else. He received the call on Wednesday. His cell phone rang, "Staying Alive". Richard didn't know how Jim did it, since Jim seemed to change his number fairly regularly, but it was always Jim when "Staying Alive" started playing.

"Hello," Richard said with a sigh, expecting Jim to either chatter at him for a while, or to simply tell him what he needed.

"Mr. Moriarty," the man on the other side said. Richard tensed completely. The voice was clearly not Jim.

"Who is this?" Richard asked.

"Unimportant," the man said. "Your brother has been in our care for a while, but it's time for him to go home."

Richard's blood went cold at that. No one, absolutely no one knew that Richard had a brother. "Where is he?"

"We'll send you the address," the man on the line said before hanging up.

Richard pulled his old beat up phone away from his ear. It was at least two generations too old, right before everything became touch screen and like a small computer in your hand. It was top of the line when Jim bought it for him, but now it badly needed to be replaced but Richard wouldn't have it. He loved his phone, he didn't even care that it didn't even get updates anymore.

The phone went into his jacket pocket with Richard's keys as Richard whipped out the door, not even waiting for the text. Richard practically sprinted out of his flat, down seven flights of stairs to the basement where his building's garage was. Richard had a hard time finding a place with rent he could afford. It wasn't a great building or a great part of town, but it had parking, and he liked it well enough. He vaguely thought that Jim had leaned on someone to get him the flat, but Richard also knew that he was possibly romanticizing Jim a bit too much. Jim didn't care about him that much.

Richard hoped into his car, and old Ford Anglia that had no radio, or A/C, and only one of the windows rolled down and that window wasn't even on the driver's side. It was noisy and hateful and Richard loved it. He loved it because he'd bought it completely with his money and kept it up with his own money and Jim definitely had no hand in it. He also loved it because it gave him the independence to get where he wanted whenever he wanted. Now he was glad for it because wherever Jim was Richard didn't want to include any more people in getting him, like a cabbie.

Richard sped out of his garage as fast as he could, heading out of town. He knew wherever Jim was it wouldn't be in London. The address that appeared on his phone confirmed it. It was maybe a three hour drive. Richard didn't care. He just drove, humming to himself absently. He couldn't stand silence sometimes. Normally he played music from his phone, but he didn't want to risk using up the battery, in case the man should call back.

The place that he pulled up to looked like a very normal sanatorium. The guard at the front gate asked to see his license when he pulled up. Richard couldn't help but tap his foot impatiently. He didn't even bother hiding it since he had to open his door just to hand the man the card. "Around back, Mr. Moriarty," the guard said. Richard held in a shiver. He'd been Richard Brooke legally for about ten years. His license said Brooke.

The old Ford Anglia pulled around back, a man in a suit was waiting for Richard there. Richard didn't know at the time who it was, but later he'd learn it was Mycroft Holmes. Richard got out, walking to the man. "Do you have him?"

The man glanced over at him from the cigarette he was smoking. The man let the cigarette drop, before he ground it out with his foot. "Come inside Mr. Brooke," the man said. He turned and headed in. Richard headed in, fully aware at the small power play that had just taken place. In order to get his brother back, Richard had to follow the man. The man gave him no choice. Richard had seen Jim play the same game before.

"Where is he?" Richard asked as the man led him into an office. Richard thought it was probably the man's office, but he was never really sure. It probably wasn't, but Richard would only think of that later.

"In due time, Mr. Brooke," the man said. "Your brother is not a well man."

"I am aware," Richard said. "What have you done to him?"

"Personally? Nothing," the man said. Richard wanted to punch the posh accent right out of him. Those bouts of violence Richard would sometimes feel boil up in him always frightened him and soothed him. Jim was the violent one, and Richard was always afraid of taking after him. At the same time, Jim was never physically violent when he had to be. Richard always wanted to be the one to administer the beating.

"What has been done to him?" Richard asked.

"A bit of this and that," the man said.

"Why are you even talking to me?" Richard asked. He could tell that this man was looking for something.

"You don't know anything, that's all I wanted to know," the man responded. Richard felt that this man wouldn't be above having a 'bit of this and that' done to Richard if he suspected Richard knew anything.

"Can I have him then?"

"He should be in your backseat now, I expect," the man said.

Richard simply turned and walked out. He didn't run but he was outside far faster than it took him to actually get to the office. Jim was in fact in the back seat. He barely seemed to be breathing at all. Richard felt a bolt of fear run through him, remembering young Jim after being 'disciplined' by their parents. Sometimes he would just collapse, barely moving at all. He'd used up all his energy remaining passive and unbreakable under their father's belt. As soon as their parents were gone, Jim's will to seem strong would fall away.

Richard didn't even touch him; he simply climbed into the front seat and drove away. It was three hours back to London, but Richard knew that Jim wouldn't stand going to a hospital. He'd drag himself up, pretending to be fine and possibly breaking the fingers of anyone who tried to touch him. Jim would just make himself worse. Richard could patch him up, he was sure.

He drove back the three hours in silence. Richard thought that maybe Jim was asleep; he hoped Jim was asleep anyway. He looked so small under the blanket he was wrapped in. Richard dreaded having to see the damage. He didn't stop for anything, and when he got home he felt badly dehydrated, as well as a desperate need to piss, but he couldn't deal with either until he had Jim inside.

Richard was a lot stronger than he looked, but he also wasn't someone who could carry an entire body of his own size up seven flights of stairs. He gathered Jim up as best he could in the blanket, keeping Jim covered as much as possible. Jim would kill him if someone, anyone saw them both. Richard desperately wished that he had Colonel Moran's number. The Colonel would have no problem getting Jim upstairs.

As Richard started to drag his brother up the stairs (a very slow and painful process from both of them, Richard was sure, though Jim didn't make a sound) he thought that Jim would be pissed if anyone else saw him so weak. Jim probably was pissed off enough that Richard had seen him be weak as a boy, Richard didn't want to compound that by calling more people over to see Jim like… this.

Richard had a hard time getting Jim up the stairs. He basically had to sit Jim down on each step before dragging him up each step, Richard's arms wrapped around his brother's torso and under his arms. Jim maybe we awake, but he stayed completely limp. That told Richard just how tired Jim was: Jim would never put up with the indignity of being dragged up 168 steps and across twelve landings (28 stairs per floor, 2 landings per floor. Seven flights of stairs from the basement to the 6th floor).

By the time Richard got Jim to the hall Richard's back felt like it was on fire. He was literally just bent in half dragging Jim on his butt across the floor. Richard might have found it comical if he hadn't been so afraid. Jim hadn't stirred at all, only Jim's very weak, very slow hot breath on Richard's arms assured the younger twin that his brother was even alive.

When Richard finally dragged Jim into his flat, Richard simply dumped Jim on his bed and went to relieve himself. Richard expected that whenever (if ever) Jim woke up that he'd call Richard weak. ( _You're so pathetic, I bet you couldn't even look at me. It's not like you haven't seen it on yourself before._ ) Richard at least hoped Jim would say that. Sometimes Richard would imagine all the awful things he wished would happen to Jim, but faced with the possibility that many of them (and many more things he hadn't imagined) had happened all Richard wanted was for nothing irreversible to have happened to his brother.

Richard washed his hands for probably too long. He just didn't want to face Jim, not yet. He hesitated for another moment before quietly padding out to the bedroom. Jim was still completely still, lying just as Richard had laid him. "Okay Jim, just hold on," Richard murmured. He went to the kitchen for his first aid kit, dropping the kit on the bed before returning to the bathroom to get the large plastic box of bandaids he'd kept on hand ever since he was young.

Finally Richard couldn't hesitate any longer. He carefully pulled the blanket aside. He frowned, seeing the plain white tee shirt and grey sweat pants that adorned Jim's body. It just seemed wrong for Jim; though Richard knew he himself would be perfectly at home in such an outfit. Richard reached out, carefully pulling the shirt up and off.

He made no sound when he saw the amount of gauze wrapped Jim's torso. He made no sound when he pulled down the sweat pants and saw the continuation of the gauze. Richard made no sound as her quietly unwound the gauze, realizing just why there was so much when he saw that under the second layer blood had already seeped through. Richard made no sound as he gently sat Jim up, continuing to unwrap his elder brother. He didn't even make a sound when he finally had Jim completely unwrapped and could see the full extent of the damage.

Richard hadn't heard from Jim in six months. That wasn't exactly uncommon. Sometimes Jim would call and bother Richard every day, and other times he'd simply not contact his brother for months. The longest time of no contact was two years, three months, one week, five days, seventeen hours, 29 minutes and 59 seconds. Richard thought as he saw the damage, noting the scars that were already forming that Jim could not have been in that place for six months.

Given the way his own skin healed, Richard estimated that Jim had probably been in that place for a month and a half. Seeing the damage Richard also expected that Jim hadn't made a sound the entire time.

It was at that moment that Richard realized Jim's eyes were open, staring at Richard. "Oh, hello," Richard said like he hadn't even noticed Jim there. Jim only blinked. "Don't worry," Richard said, reaching up and stroking Jim's hair like Richard would with the kitten that he used to have before Jim slit its throat. Jim's eyes looked up at the hand, but no other part of his body moved, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. "I'm here now."

Richard slipped off his jacket, dropping it next to Jim before he climbed off the bed. Jim's eyes followed his movements. Richard simply went back to the bathroom. He drew a bath, only about half full. He couldn't get Jim as clean as he wanted, but Jim would probably lose his mind if he stayed covered in dry blood.

Jim still lay unmoving when Richard returned. Richard dragged him up, carrying Jim on his back this time. Jim gripped Richard's neck just enough so that he wouldn't fall. Richard found that comforting. He helped Jim into the tub, humming the whole time. Normally Jim would snap at him to shut up, but Jim didn't make a sound.

Richard found a wash cloth and quietly started to wash around the wounds. Jim didn't react to anything. Richard knew that he had to have accidentally hurt Jim a few times, no matter how careful he cleaned the battered body. When Richard got the grime and blood off he'd see open wounds or large black bruises where Richard had run the cloth over. The sight of the burn wounds made Richard's heart clench the worse. The water was tinged pink when Richard finally opened the drain and let the water out.

He had to drag Jim out of the tub and back to the bed. Richard carefully dried him before starting to tend to the injuries. He tended to the bleeding injuries first, applying the generic Neosporin that Richard's poor working actor budge preferred. Next he treated the burns, liberally applying the burn cream. The circular burn wounds bothered Richard the most. They were too perfect. Richard couldn't figure out what they were, but just seeing them frightened him.

"It'll be okay, Jim," Richard said. He thought Jim would roll his eyes, but Jim didn't even blink. "Jim?" He asked, his voice raising a bit. What if Jim became completely unresponsive. Just as Richard was about to start to really worry, Jim slid his eyes over to Richard. Richard let out a shaky sigh of relief. "I'm here for you, nothing's going to happen to you. I'd kill before I'd let that happen." Jim held his gaze for a moment before he looked away.

Richard knew how dangerous such a promise was. Richard had sworn never to kill anyone, saying that he would do something for Jim… Richard was sure that Jim would try test that theory, but Richard wouldn't take it back, not when Jim still seemed to be barely breathing.

He carefully bandaged Jim up as best he could before quietly laying Jim down. Under all his wounds, Richard could count Jim's ribs. The Moriarty brothers had always been small, but Jim was not terrifyingly skinny. He was gaunt, white, sick looking. His hair and clearly just been cut, but Richard suspected it had been too long while Jim had been held. Whoever dropped Jim in Richard's car had made sure to get Richard at least partly cleaned up. The worst wounds had been stitched up, and the worst burns had clearly already been treated a little.

"Just sleep now," Richard said, tucking Jim in lightly. "I'll make you some soup later, just rest." Richard's stomach wrenched when Jim obediently shut his eyes. Richard didn't know what to do with this Jim, this Jim that couldn't even move himself. Richard had never seen another human being so dependent on another, never seen a body so broken. It was all the more sickening because it was Jim, Jim who was supposed to be untouchable.

Richard slipped out of his bedroom and went down the hall to his second bathroom where he finally gave into the nausea that had been building since he received the phone call that morning. Richard wretched into the toilet and quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Jim up.

* * *

Jim didn't speak at all for a week. He didn't even move on his own for the first three days. Richard fed him, took Jim to the bathroom, cleaned Jim's body and changed his bandages. Through all of that Jim was eerily compliant. He allowed his brother to haul him around, slept when Richard told him to, and ate whatever Richard gave him. The only time Jim refused food was when he seemed to be feeling sick. At one point during those first three days Jim got violently sick but couldn't even move to vomit, the result being that Richard found him nearly drowning in his own vomit.

Richard had left Jim on his side on the sofa after he got him cleaned up and Jim had stopped being so sick. Richard hadn't complained about having to wash his bedding, carpet and bathroom. He didn't complain about having to sleep on the sofa when he slept at all. He didn't complain at all.

On the fourth day Richard had just finished tending to Jim's still healing wounds when his brother's hand suddenly slipped around his wrist. Richard jumped, having gotten used to the immobile Jim. The grip was so weak that Richard nearly burst into tears. Instead he looked up into Jim's intense gaze. Richard got the message: Jim was healing. Richard helped Jim lay down, but Jim shifted himself into a comfortable position once there and let his head fall to the side on the pillow.

When Richard slipped out of the room he sat down on his sofa and wept silently. He couldn't remember ever feeling so relieved in his life. He hadn't even realized how scared he'd been until he found himself there on the couch, bent almost completely in half, sobbing into his knees. He couldn't even stay quiet. All the fear and anger and frustration were coming out and Richard couldn't have censored himself for anything.

He could finally stop he felt so mortified. Jim must have heard him. Jim didn't like it when Richard showed so much natural emotion. Jim had taught him not to do it. Richard hated himself for the emotion that spilled from him. Quietly he stood and went to the bathroom, washing his face. He went back to the sofa and lay down, falling asleep very quickly. He just needed to escape the world for a while.

Jim didn't speak until five days later. In those five days Jim had moved from being nearly completely immobile to being able to shuffle his way to the bathroom and kitchen on his own (though Richard still stood at his side, refusing to let Jim do it alone yet). Richard propped Jim up on the sofa with enough pillows to make Jim sneer (Richard took that as a good sign), a box set of old Looney Tunes (which Richard knew Jim loved, even if Jim would never say it out loud), and a bowl of stupidly sugary cereal that Jim had loved as a kid. Richard was so happy that Jim could hold the bowl on his own and feed himself. Jim had started to fill out very quickly, just a sign to Richard that Jim's gauntness came from not being given food.

Richard had sat in his uncomfortably squishy arm chair to allow Jim the couch to himself as they wanted Bugs and Daffy argue whether it was duck season or rabbit season. All of Richard's furniture was old and uncomfortable, but it had been cheap and Richard had paid for it on his own. Like his car, he treasured his ratty old furniture.

"Thank you," Jim said and Richard jumped.

"Jim!" Richard gasped, jumping up and practically skidding to Jim's side. He hadn't heard Jim's voice in over six months, but hearing it at that moment sounded like a miracle to him.

Jim didn't say anything else, though he did hand Richard the empty bowl. Richard just smiled and took it. He went and refilled it, bringing it back. In good cheer he bent down and kissed the top of Jim's head. Jim batted him away and Richard chuckled. Jim would never be deterred from his cartoons and cereal for anything. Richard also knew that the one small 'thank you' would be all he'd ever get for time he was putting into helping Jim get better. Richard didn't mind, he treasured it.

* * *

Jim didn't talk much that second week. The words he threw out were very simple, mostly things like: "You idiot", "More" and "Shut up". Richard didn't seem to mind, though. He was just desperately happy at Jim's progress. By the end of the second week Jim could move around without Richard's help. He could shower on his own, though Richard still hovered around. Richard still changed Jim's bandages, and cooked for him, but Jim was healing very well.

"You call Sebastian at the end of this week to come get me," Jim said one day from the sofa.

"Yes, Jim," Richard said for the kitchen where he was making sandwiches. He knew that meant that Jim would be well enough for other people to see him at the end of this week.

"You won't forget," Jim ordered, sulky. He was clearly bored. Richard just smiled.

"Do I ever forget anything?"

"No," Jim answered.

"Here," Richard said, bringing the plate out. "Jim…" Richard hesitated.

"You want to know what happened." Jim said, smirking a bit.

"Yes," Richard said, his voice stronger and more determined than he felt.

"Do you want to know exactly what they did?" Jim asked. "About the electrocutions? Would you like me to tell you how it felt? How about the water boarding, dull and predictable, though I imagine it would work on a _normal_ person." Richard shuddered, unable to stop himself. "Does it scare you?" Jim cooed. "Do you want me to tell you about the drugs they used? Those were fun, a few I've used, a few I'll have to use later. I don't have to tell you about what it felt like when they ripped my rib out, you already know."

Richard turned white. "They ripped your rib out?" he breathed, reaching out a gripping Jim's wrist. Jim's eyes went down to his brother's wrist before looking back up at Richard, meeting his eyes.

"You're angry, that makes you angry," Jim observed.

"No one is supposed to touch you; no one is supposed to hurt you. How dare they?" Richard hissed through clenched teeth.

Jim chuckled and drew Richard down, kissing his forehead. "You're very cute," he said. Richard knew that meant weak. He snarled at Jim, he just laughed at him.

"I'm serious!" Richard snapped.

"I know, that's why it's cute."

"Why, why would they do that? Do they not know who you are?" Richard demanded, standing up and starting to pace.

"They, or really he, knew exactly who I was," Jim said, lounging back.

"Who?" Richard demanded.

"Mycroft Holmes," Jim said. "You probably met him. He probably wanted to see if you'd be any use when I wasn't."

"I hate him," Richard said, and he really meant it. He'd never hated anyone so much. He felt a white hot anger course through him. How dare that man, how dare anyone hurt Jim like that.

"Don't worry about it," Jim said. "Daddy will take care of everything," he cooed.

Richard shivered. He knew Jim said that to make Richard stop being so worked up. It worked, but Richard always hated it when Jim called him 'daddy'. "Stop."

"You've been such a good boy Richard," James sang.

"Shut up!" Richard snapped.

"Do you want me to give you a present?" Jim asked with a malicious smile.

"Stop it!" Richard snapped. "You're just bored, but you have to stop. You owe me Jim, you fucking owe me this. I didn't have to help you. I could have made the Colonel do it."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

"Yeah, I wouldn't have, but not because I'm scared of you or any shit like that. I did it because you would have hated it if I'd called him," Richard snapped. "You couldn't even move and I wasn't about to make you feel any more helpless than you already felt. That's not what brothers do."

They both went silent for a moment, Jim's attention focused completely on Richard. Richard wasn't ever comfortable with Jim's full attention, when even all of Jim's thoughts would be focused on him. "You're right," Jim said. "That's not what brothers do."

Richard knew exactly why that didn't make him feel better at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Richard got the phone call early one morning. He snuck out of Kitty Reilly's apartment, as he had been doing for days to avoid questions. He'd make sure people knew Jim was real… but not yet. He wanted to bury his brother, sort himself out, and he wanted to find anyone who wasn't Kitty Reilly to tell about Jim. He would tell people, but not yet.

So when he got the phone call his pulled out his shoes and jacket and went to catch the tube. He dearly missed his car. Jim had destroyed it. It wasn't that Richard couldn't afford a new one. He was inheriting most of Jim's legal funds (which Richard was surprised at how much there actually was in those accounts) and he could buy his own car. Richard had decided what he'd do once he did get the money. He considered just being dull and just setting up enough to keep himself with a flat and from starving and giving the rest away. He really didn't want to live of Jim, he never had. He just hadn't ever been able to live any other way. He was unlikely to ever get a part again when everyone thought he'd sold his soul to a fake detective for money. When people found out about Jim… well, he honestly wasn't even sure that he wouldn't be killed for the honor of being Jim Moriarty's twin.

Richard rode the tube away from Kitty's home and toward the crematorium he'd picked for this. It was more outside the city than in because of the nature of the work. He didn't mind, he liked the place. He'd hung around a lot when he was younger and thinking about maybe going into the business. He'd honestly considered becoming a mortician, because he liked the idea of helping people deal with their grief and he knew he could be good and he didn't want to just let the skills Jim had taught him to with dissection and body manipulation to just go to waste. It turned out that his discomfort with the dead was insurmountable, and he'd decided that he'd rather be an actor anyway. It was nice to be someone who wasn't Richard Moriarty for a while.

"Hello Richy," Natalia said, allowing her accent to slip because she knew he liked it.

"Hello Natty," Richard teased back, smiling at the petite woman, an ex-girlfriend. He opened his arms and allowed her to walk into them. The small Russian woman fit beautifully into his arms, as she always had.

"Bad days, huh?" she asked. She was part of the reason why he'd picked this place. They already knew about his brother, and they already knew how to keep their mouths shut. Some of Jim's body disposals had gone through their crematorium.

"I've had better," Richard murmured, pressing a kiss to Natalia's forehead. She smiled sweet and took his hand, tugging him to the back.

"I was sorry when I heard. It's a real mess you got yourself into," Natalia said.

"You've no idea," Richard said. "How's Tim?"

"Ricky and Sasha are driving him nuts… so well as ever," she said with a bright smile.

"And that's why it never would have worked out between us. No way I could have been a house wife," Richard said, earning an elbow in his gut from the small woman.

"Like you have a lot of choice now. Can you even get employed?"

"Not thinking about that right now," Richard said, looking back down at her and smiling. She knew him. She knew that he was playing his part. She knew that the reason they'd broken up had nothing to do with her falling for Timothy before she and Richard had broken up. She knew it had everything to with the fact that Richard knew that her parents had been defected Soviet spies before he even knew he name. She knew it have everything to do with the fact that Richard had played so many parts that he no longer seemed to know how to play himself. She knew it had to do with the fact that Jim had told her to stop seeing his brother. She knew these things, and so did Richard.

"I missed you," she said.

"I missed you too," Richard said. "Will you come to the funeral, there's someone I want you to meet."

"New girlfriend?" Natalia asked. Richard only smiled. "What's she like?"

"She's not my girlfriend yet. She doesn't really know me yet, except that I'm Jim's brother."

Natalia's eyebrows headed into her hair line. "She knew Jim?"

"She dated Jim," Richard said.

"Really? Jim dated people?"

"Jim did his best damn impression of me for her, from what I got," Richard said, grinning a bit sheepishly. "You think I've got a shot?"

"I don't know… are you happy going after Jim's left overs?"

"Oh no, Doll, she broke up with him."

"And she's still alive?"

"Beautifully breathing," Richard said with a sweet and innocent smile. Those smiles always made Natalia the most unhappy. She wasn't ever sure if that was really Richard or if that was the mask he'd created to fool Jim, the mask he couldn't seem to figure out how to remove.

"Well, then I have to meet her… you sure she's going to be there?"

"Yes, she will be," he said as they finally got to the cremation room.

"How do you know?" she asked. She waited now, wanting to see that little piece of Jim that seemed to have dug its way into Richard's whole person, so deeply buried that Richard didn't even know it was there. That little piece of Jim, Jim sanitized, Jim safe, that was Natalia's favorite part of Richard. That was the reason why Jim told her to stop seeing Richard.

Richard smiled, on Jim it would be a smirk. "The same way to know Dr. Watson will come to the funeral as well… because there really isn't anyone who can tell me no when I play it right," he said. For just a moment he was so beautifully confident. And then he sighed heavily and it all slipped away and he seemed sad.

"Come on, time to say goodbye," Natalia said, taking Richard inside.

Jim's body was already in the box to be cremated. His eyes were shut and he looked peaceful, something he never was when he was alive. Richard moves over to Jim. Jim had clearly been kept in some kind of deep freeze to still not be rotting after three weeks of being dead, yet he hadn't been properly contained from probably the last day, because there was the hint of death on him.

Richard slipped his hands into the box. He preformed the same check on Jim's body that he did at the morgue. He checked the wound (the body had long since stopped bleeding) and then for the three scars that Richard used and touchstones to be sure that the body he was seeing was Jim's. He wasn't bothered by the ugly stitching on the body from where Jim had been cut open for autopsy.

"Burn him," Richard said simply. He stepped back, letting Natalia put the lid on the box and pushed the button so that the body would be rolled into the oven.

"There's something the man who brought him left for you," Natalia said. She led Richard out. The body would take some time to burn. She took him back to her office, picking up the small parcel that had been left for Richard. The box was so nondescript that it was a bit unnevering. Richard accepted it without fuss. "What is it?"

"Jim's phone," Richard said, taking it out of the box. He flipped it on, discovering, as he'd suspected, that it was completely blank. He slipped the phone into his pocket. He needed a new one anyway.

"And?" Natalia asked, knowing there was no way a box that big would only have a phone in it/

"It won't mean the same thing to you that it means to be," Richard said, shutting the box. That was the end of the discussion.

Richard spoke with Natalia for a bit longer, telling her when the funeral was (two days, it'd probably last ten minutes, and the ashes would be buried at a plot that Mycroft Holmes had purchased). He went to Jim's apartment after that.

"Jim?" Sebastian murmured sleepily from the couch, waking up when Richard opened the door. Richard shut the door and padded over to Sebastian.

"Back to sleep Bastian," Richard murmured, imitating Jim as he lightly trailed his fingers down Sebastian's side as he past. Sebastian went back to sleep on command. Richard didn't know if it was a kindness, what he'd done. He hoped Sebastian just thought of it as a good dream… mostly he'd done it because he didn't want to face Sebastian's questions either.

Richard walked back to Jim's room and crawled under the bed, getting the box of stuff he'd left there. It was his very special shoe box, the one even Jim wouldn't touch because it would destroy Richard to lose anything out of it. He'd put it under Jim's bed when he had to go to live with Kitty. Richard didn't trust Kitty not to go through his box.

Richard sat on Jim's bed and opened the box. Nothing was moved, though he noticed a slip of yellow on the inside of the box. There was a Post-it under the lid. _No, I didn't touch anything, idiot. –JM_. Jim had added a little heart and his favorite smiley: a smiley face with a tongue sticking out a little vampire fangs. Jim had copied it from a girl at school. Jim had a bad habit of borrowing things and never giving them back.

The painful smile that tugged Richard's lips was unbidden but Richard didn't try to stop it. He set the box id aside carefully. Jim had unknowingly added one more special thing to the inside of Richard's special box. Richard was about to add something else as well. He opened the box that had been left for him at the crematorium, pulling out the cleaned bone that lay inside. It was a rib, Jim's rib. Richard set the rib inside, lay next to Richard's own that also lay inside the box.

"Look Jim, I've got a matched set," Richard said. He took the box lid and settled it back on before slipping the box back under Jim's bed. He snuck out after that. He still wasn't ready to deal with Sebastian, not yet. He'd call him later.

* * *

John wasn't 100% sure why he was attending Moriarty's funeral. He was even less sure as to why he was bringing Molly Hooper with him. He'd gotten a text message from Richard two days before (It'd taken him forever and a day to figure out who the hell RM was. When it finally connected he felt a simple sense that it was understandable for Richard to want to claim connect to Jim Moriarty, at least when he was planning the funeral.) with the address and time for the funeral, and a reminder to bring Molly Hooper.

" _Will you come?" John had asked Molly in person. He didn't think asking Molly to come to her pretend ex-boyfriend's funeral was something he should do over the phone._

" _He asked for me to come?" she asked, hardly believing it._

" _I think he has a crush on you," John said._

" _That's hardly funny."_

" _Only because I'm serious," John said. Molly blushed then._

" _You can't be," she said._

" _I am," John said. "He said that it seemed less creepy if he could find a way to ask you that wasn't over his brother's dead body."_

" _I don't understand."_

" _Molly, the man has mentioned you at the end of almost every conversation I've ever had with him," John said a bit forcefully. "Will you just come?"_

" _Okay," she said. "But… I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to… well."_

" _Thank you can tell him," John said._

That was all it took to get here there. They met a predetermined tube station and took a cab out to the little plot of country where the funeral would be. It wasn't easy to find the small procession in the cemetery. When they did find it, there was one more person than John had been expecting: a very lovely, small, dark haired woman. She was talking quietly to Richard (who'd found a suit that didn't make him look like Jim at all). She stopped talking when she saw them and Richard turned to them. He smiled, weakly, but it was a smile. John wondered if it was real strain that made the smile so tired, or simply Richard's acting.

"Dr. Watson, Dr. Hooper, thank you for coming," Richard said politely. He spoke as softly as he did in the hospital. "Dr. Watson, you remember Colonel Moran," he said, nodding to the soldier who was standing a bit off from the rest of them. "And this is Natalia Price, an old friend."

"Pleasure to meet you," John said, extending his hand. He noted the wedding band on her finger. It was in good condition, though a few years old. She'd been married for a while, though she was still happily married. John wondered if Sherlock would be proud if he could have heard John's thoughts.

"Richard's being coy," Natalia said. "I'm his ex-girlfriend," she said, shaking Molly's hand now and flashing a smile.

"Ah," Molly said. "Molly Hooper," she said, smiling weakly. She was clearly uncomfortable with this very beautiful and very forward woman.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Natalia said with a grin. "Ah, here he comes," she said. A pastor walked across the grass, headed for their small party. The man lead them back to a plot of earth with a very beautifully polished black headstone reading the name "James Moriarty". John felt and uncomfortable lurch at the recognition of how it looked exactly like Sherlock's headstone. Mycroft had paid for it, how could he allow the headstones to look so similar? It had to be on purpose.

The pastor opened his little book of worship, starting to read the funeral ceremony. He said no more and no less than the full ceremony. He gave no speech and gave no one time to say something about Jim. The service didn't last ten minutes. The man gripped Richard's arm as he passed, but he spoke no more and simply went on his way.

Richard was smiled weakly still, as he had for the entire service. His hand rested on his side, seeming to push into his ribs. He didn't cry. He didn't really show any emotion at all. The closest thing he showed to emotion was dragging Colonel Moran into a hug before the man could walk off on his own. Moran smiled weakly (breaking form the sullen and blank expression he'd worn before) and tousled Richard's hair as if he were a little kid. When Richard let him go, Moran walked away without speaking to anyone.

"There's a café not far from here. They make good hot chocolate," Richard suggested, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, I remember that place," Natalia said, slipping her arm through Richard's like it was the most natural thing in the world. John instantly felt bad for bringing Molly. Richard had seemed really interested, but then he brought an old girlfriend to the funeral and allowed her to hang all over him.

No one spoke again until they were out of the cemetery and headed to the coffee shop. Richard was the one who broke the silence. "Let's stop for a moment," he said. Natalia let go of his arm and he went to Molly, offering her his arm. She blushed and bent down, pulling off her shoes. John blushed a bit himself. He'd been rather absorbed in his own thoughts and hadn't realized that Molly was limping. Richard held her shoes for her and allowed her to lean on him as they walked (at a much slower place) the rest of the way.

The café itself was more like a diner, but none of them minded. Richard helped Molly to a seat before taking the opposition. Natalia sat by Molly, leaving John to sit next to Richard. "Thank you for coming," Richard said before looking at the waitress. "Surprised us," he said with a very large smile. The smiled dimmed down to nearly nothing the second the woman was gone.

"It's no problem," Molly said, her voice coming out a bit too loud out of nerves.

"No, it was a kindness," Richard said. "I know none of you really like Jim, probably hated him. That's fine, I still hate him, and I love him," he said.

"Has it been… um… very hard?" Molly asked.

Richard looked away for a moment, looking lost, looking like he was looking for something. "I don' know what to do with myself yet. When I can find something to do it'll become easier."He turned his eyes to John. "How have you been doing?"

"Keeping busy," John said. He realized how this table was set up. Richard was the ringmaster. No one spoke who he didn't want to, and yet Richard made it seem like there was nothing unnormal about the situation. It was an unsettling realization, especially since John was sure that Moriarty could do the same thing.

"That's good, smart," Richard said. "I wish I had that option."

"I'm sure work will come along," Natalia said.

Richard scoffed. "Unlikely, the last job was terrible."

"The story teller?" Molly asked before blushing. She seemed to realize she'd spoken out of turn. Richard turned a very tired smile on, and it was aimed at her. She was the only one at the table who wasn't being directed, but her natural awkwardness made her just as quiet as the rest of them. Richard would have been happy to let her chatter away.

"I take it you found the DVDs in the bargain bin?"

"Yes," Molly said.

Richard sighed heavily. "I think Jim set it up. It was a really bad job, really boring. I've never read such boring children's stories… but then our copy of the Grimm Brothers was the uncensored version," Richard said, rubbing his temple. "I'm not sure I'm a good judge of child normal."

"I'm sure you're fine," Molly said.

Richard smiled, looking unsure though. "You're being kind," he said. Meaning that she was lying. There was no way he could understand normal, not with who he was related to.

"No, I'm saying what I think," Molly said, huffing up a bit. Richard grinned.

"You're adorable," he said before blushing. Natalia let out a beautiful laugh, which earned her a very Jim-like glare that she just ignored.

"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "I just forget that Richard's like a love struck girl when he's got a crush on someone." Both Richard and Molly blushed. Even John was chuckling now.

"Natalia," Richard said in a warning snarl. She'd stopped playing her part and he didn't like it.

"Molly," Natalia said, standing up. "Richard thinks you're adorable, and honestly it's impressive as hell that you break up with Jim and not be dead, so be a dear and join Richard for coffee Monday at lunch. There's a nice coffee bar near St. Bart's that should suffice," she said.

The waitress came with their drinks and a plate of biscuits. Two of the cups were to-go, which Natalia picked up. "Thanks Cherry, you're a doll," Natalia said, slipping a ten pound note in the waitress's apron. "I've got to get home, Tim will be antsy by now. We're going to the Opera this evening," she said, beaming.

"Have a good evening Natalia," Richard said, setting aside whatever antagonism he felt, kissing the woman's cheek when she bent over near him. "Send my love."

"Will do sweety," she teased, tweaking Richard's nose before walking out.

"Sorry… she's known me forever ago," Richard said, seeming shy.

"Yes," Molly said.

"Yes what?" Richard asked.

"I'll meet you for coffee on Monday," Molly said, picking up the second to-go cup and copping a biscuit in her mouth. She grabbed her shoes and followed Natalia out.

"Well…" Richard said, sitting back in his chair. "What do you know…"


	8. Chapter 8

"Wait, please," Molly said, holding the door of the cab that Natalia had seemed to magic out of thin air.

"Just ride with me," Natalia said, scooching over. Molly smiled a bit and slipped in, pulling the door shut. The cab took off. "So, ask me."

"Ask you what?" Molly asked.

"About Richard, I know you're dying to know," Natalia said, sipping her drink. "Gods! I love Cherry, she just knows exactly what you need."

Molly hesitated and took a sip of her drink. "Mmmm," she gasped, unaware of how thoroughly erotic the sounds she made were, or that Richard would probably brain himself if he heard her moaning over hot chocolate and not him. "Wow, this is just…"

"Amazing, I know," Natalia said, sipping her drink. She smirked behind her cup, mentally noting things to tell Richard later.

"How do you know about this place?"

"Richard found it. I don't know how he does it exactly. He'll go on a crawl for a night and come back with about ten different places you just have to try and are always fantastic," Natalia said with a smile. "Or he used to when we were younger. I'm not sure he can drink like he used to and still stay standing… but then who can?" she asked with a shrug.

"You said to ask you…" Molly trailed off, not sure where to start.

"You want to know if Richard's a good guy?"

"I want to know if he's like Jim?" Molly asked, being blunt.

Natalia looked at Molly, considering the woman a little more, trying to size her up. "He can be, but it scars him very badly."

"How so?"

"Well… the only time I've ever felt like… like I had to be afraid of him… it was a long time ago. He's come back from seeing Jim, this was back when Jim required weekly visits, you understand? I'll never know what happened that day, but I just got really annoyed at Jim. Rich was really bad off, and I called Jim a bastard in front of him."

"Is that bad?" Molly asked.

"I'd done it a hundred times before, and it never bothered Rich a lick," Natalia said. "But that day he just… it was different. He looked at her, really looked at me. I thought of the times I'd met Jim and he'd just looked at me like he could read every part of who he was. Jim always found me lacking, and that day Richard found me lacking." Natalia stop and took a deep breath, needing to calm herself for the memory that still had the power to hurt. "He just stood up and walked away."

"That's it?" Molly asked.

"I followed him," Natalia said. "I grabbed his arm and demanded that he not run off. Richard didn't move at all. He didn't even look at me. His voice got very soft, but I heard every word. "Natasha," he said. "You need to let me go right now. I'm afraid if you don't that I will kill you.""

"That doesn't…" Molly trailed off, thinking of all the boys and girls who'd joked about killing her when they were annoyed. It was something people said but didn't mean.

"Richard doesn't make those jokes. He's too afraid of being like Jim, always has been. When he told me that, I knew he meant it and I let him go. An hour later he curled up next to me and apologized… he had been frightened."

"You forgave him," Molly said, considering the story.

"He didn't hurt me," Natalia said. "If I had pushed him past that point, whatever would have happened would have been my fault. He gave me every warning. He didn't want to hurt me, he was just afraid that he would. Besides that… Richard doesn't hold a grudge for any bad thing anyone has ever done to him."

"You care a lot about him," Molly said hesitantly.

"I do love Richard… not still like that, but he's been my friend for a long time. He is one of the kindest people I have ever met, and he's absolutely smitten with you," Natalia said. "Just go to coffee tomorrow."

"I will," Molly said.

"Good girl."

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Shoot."

"What should I wear?" Molly asked. Natalia laughed.

* * *

Molly was very glad that she'd taken Natalia's suggestions. The woman had gone home with Molly and sorted through her clothes to find appropriate outfit, but ended up staying a lot longer. For Molly, she picked out a coffee date outfit, a first date outfit, a second date outfit, a walk around outfit, a first sex outfit, and a super nice event outfit. She also took some of Molly's clothes to donate to the church, and sorted through the rest to make Molly dress… well, less like she normally did. Molly wasn't sure she liked it, but Natalia was kind and warm and had stayed for about four hours helping Molly deal with her wardrobe.

Those four hours seemed like perfectly used time when she saw Richard's face. Molly wore sheer stockings, low pumps, a knee length black skirt, white blouse, and brown and light maroon sweater that Natalia had purposefully wash to shrink it a little. It looked professional, and not too far off what Molly would wear for work. In fact, Molly had worn it to work. She'd worn the sweater to work a few times, though she'd always hung it up for fear of shrinking. It hugged her body a bit more this time.

She felt shy, but Richard looked just as unsure as she felt. She imagined that he'd probably changed his outfit about six times, trying to figure out what was appropriate attire for a 'pre-date' (as Natalia had called it). Molly knew that she would probably be doing the same thing. She'd done it a hundred times before: is this one too fancy? Is this one too casual? Is it better to be overdressed? Will he think I'm a snob or that I don't know how to dress? Is it better to be casual? How casual? Will I look really stupid if I dress down?

Richard has decided on a pair of jeans and proper button up shirt. Molly was vaguely reminded of Jim when he was… well pretending to be her boyfriend. Richard reacted to her differently. No matter how Molly dressed for Jim he didn't seem to care. Richard cared very much. He took one look at her and grinned. He appreciated the effort she'd made. His smile dimmed when he realized that he probably looked like a lunatic.

Molly smiled, trying to be reassuring as she sat down. "Hello… Richard," she said, sounding unsure.

"Hello, Dr. Hooper."

"Molly's fine," she said, sounding a bit dismissive.

"Really?" he asked. Molly suddenly wondered if it was really a small thing. She'd dated his brother, his brother who'd just died recently. He'd met her when she was bent over his brother, straightening out Jim's dead body.

"Yeah," she said, forcing herself to sound sure. "Really."

"Your tea," the waiter said, setting a pot of tea down on the table.

"You ordered already?" Molly asked when the waiter had gone.

"Just tea," Richard said. He poured two cups, one for each of them. The scent was wonderful and familiar.

"Ceylon and Jasmine," Molly said. "My favorite, how did you know?" She asked.

"I'm going to sound like such a creep," Richard said with a weak smile. He pulled a file up off the booth and slid it over to her. "This is… all the information Jim had on you. I skimmed over the preferences page."

"Oh," Molly said, picking up the file and starting to flip though. The front page had very basic information, nothing too in depth. The second page had her presences. It was fairly detailed. It wasn't just her favorite tea or color, but also about which outfits she favored and jewelry she always wore, even referring to the simple gold chain that she mostly kept under her clothes as 'her mother's gift'. It wasn't something Molly told anyone about, or that Jim would even have gotten a chance to see.

The second page was even more in depth, giving suggestions for how to tell Molly to dress, and what places should be touched and where he most sensitive and erogenous areas would be. Molly blushed and snapped the folder shut. Richard looked amused.

"You should see mine."

"Is it this bad?"

"It's seven binders, coded so bad that I can't even figure out everything," Richard said. "most of Jim's files are coded. Some weren't. Yours wasn't."

"Really?" she asked and the shrugged. "I wasn't very important."

"See," Richard said. "The thing is that Jim doesn't interact with people that don't hold at least some interest for him. The only idiots he'll touch are generally stepping stones to a greater source of interest."

"So I was a stepping stone," Molly said, feeling her shoulders slump.

"No… Molly, the only people my brother ever dated were… well they felt into two categories: ownership, and playing pretend. The thing is that Jim never uses his real name when he's playing pretend… but you shouldn't have been able to break up with him. He's a really… possessive person, you know?" he asked and then shook his head. "He wouldn't have let you call him Jim if he were playing pretend, but you would have known exactly who he was if he was being possessive. Either way, you should have been dead for breaking up with him."

"Oh," Molly said, feeling like she'd just swallowed something awful.

"I'm sorry," Richard said, pulling back. When he spoke to her he'd leaned in and taken her hand. "I'm sorry… normally I don't talk about him. I'm sorry."

"No," Molly said. "He's the only thing we have in common."

Richard winced. "We can fix that… if you want, of course," he said, sipping his tea. Molly sipped her own.

"Did you read my file?"

"The first two pages only," Richard said. "It's too… personal to read. Jim's very thorough, your whole life story will be in that folder, hopes and dreams and relations. I've read strangers files for research for parts… but I never read the files of anyone I'll ever meet in my life."

"So, you read about the possible sexual preferences of strangers?" she asked.

Richard blushed. "Oh God, is that in there?"

"Page there," Molly said. Richard turned tomato red.

"Oh my god! I'm so, so sorry," he gasped, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"No, it's okay," Molly said. "You didn't know."

"I'm still sorry," he said. "I'm sorry," he said, moving to stand. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"Why?" Molly asked, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. He stopped completely, looking down at her hand. Then he slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

"I thought… Moran, that's Jim's… friend," he said, shrugging a bit. "He said that Jim played be when he was dating you… I just thought… maybe you'd find me interesting, but this is very weird."

"Is that… weird… is that bothering you?" She asked.

"I don't know what weird is," he said. "My idea of normal has never been… well… it's just not very good."

"This is… weird, but I'm… well, I'm curious… is that okay?" Molly asked.

Richard's face split into a grin. "No, it's wonderful," he said. Molly smiled, caught up in his smile.

"I'm uh… I'm sorry about your brother."

"You don't have to feel that way," Richard said. "Here, they make very good chicken salad," he suggested, pulling out the menu. "And chocolate covered oranges, if you ask."

"I come here all the time, I didn't know that," Molly said.

"Jim told me," Richard said with a shrug.

"I am sorry though," Molly said.

Richard stopped, his face going blank, like he wasn't sure at all what he should express. Finally a sad smile pulled across his features. "It's just… I'm not used to being completely alone."

"Was he your last family member?" Molly asked.

The waiter came over again at that point. "Are you ready?"

"Two chicken salad sandwiches, and tell Ramon that we'd like his desert special," Richard said, setting the menu back down. The waiter left and Richard focused back on Molly. "Our parents have been dead for… well we were 15 when they died, spent a few years in foster care."

"Oh," Molly said. "I'm really sorry… did you have no family who could take you?"

"Well…" Richard shrugged. "There's still my aunt left, and her cousin… and my aunt was alive back then, but she'd been arrested a few times in her youth."

"Oh," Molly said.

"No… she's a wonderful woman, Aunt Sarah," Richard said with a smile. "She was a pretty big hippie, a couple of drug busts. She was in the getaway car with a murderer, but she was stoned out of her mind at the time and had no way of being able to even know where she was, let alone that her then boyfriend had killed someone. Anyway, she got a few years, but they weren't placing two troubles boys in her care."

"Troubled?" Molly asked, her eyebrows knitting together.

Richard sighed heavily. "Whenever Jim did anything I was left holding the bag, but Jim wasn't as good at hiding that he had problems, not after Carl Powers died," he said.

"Oh," Molly said.

"Jim was… I need to tell Aunt Sarah that he's dead. I've been avoiding it… our parents were… well they were the first time Jim ever." Richard made a vague hand motion, but Molly got it: Jim killed their parents. "They weren't… very nice… but they were very good at seeming it. Everyone thought Jim was the… troubled one in the family while they were still alive. The whole town would say how bad it was for such nice people like my parents to have such horrible sons," Richard said with a heavy sigh. "Aunt Sarah saw what my parents were doing, but no one was going to listen to someone with her record."

"So… you spent, one? Two? Years in the foster system with your brother?" Molly asked.

"Two, and the then we turned seventeen and it didn't matter what the state wanted anymore and we lived with Aunt Sarah… don't get me wrong, Jim was always… wrong ever since we were little… but Sarah loved him. She saw exactly who and what he was and she still loved him. She bought him books on science and math and took him out to look at the stars. Her only rule was that he didn't hurt me or Mattie, Mattie being Sarah's only child," Richard explained.

"Is she why Jim loves stars?"

"No, he was always interested," Richard said. "Did he take you out and name the stars?" he asked.

"Yes, it was very impressive," Molly said, smiling at the memory. They'd gone out of town, taken a blanket and just lay on the ground and looked at the stars. There were no words except Jim patiently pointing out constellations and stars, teaching her until she remembered them. "Did he do that with others?"

"He'd drag me out for it," Richard said, "and Sebastian said that Jim drug him out once, just once. It didn't last long, I don't think."

"Oh," Molly said.

"See... everything Jim learns, I take to opposite. He learns the constellations and astronomy. I study the mythology behind the stars and astrology. He studies science, I study religion. He likes math, I like theatre. I uh… I made a guess about the stars because… well it's something I used to do with girls, except that it just seemed like showing off eventually… but I'd point out the constellation and then tell the stories behind them," he explained.

"Did someone tell you it was showing off?" Molly asked, refilling her tea cup. The waiter came back with their sandwiches, which Molly bit into. She let out a happy. "Mmmmm," which sounded every bit as erotic as when she'd sipped the hot chocolate the day before. "What?" she asked, noticing that Richard was staring at her.

"Nothing," Richard said, shaking his head. "But yeah… I was told that."

"I don't know… I think it would be nice," she said.

"Well, you liked it when Jim took you out."

"Yes, but he taught me about the stars themselves, not the stories… They're both interesting."

"I could… take you out some day," Richard suggested, looking unsure.

Molly smiled and nodded. "I think I'd like that," she said. She took another bite of her sandwich and let out another (though quieter) happy "Mmmm".

"So," Richard said a bit forcefully and a bit too loudly. Molly stared at him, wondering what had gotten into him. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I thought we were talking… do you not want to talk about Jim?" she asked, suddenly realizing how insensitive that was.

"Well… I mean… it's nice... talking to someone who doesn't just hate him. But I'd rather talk about you."

Molly blushed. "What do you want to know about me? I'm not interesting."

"I think you're interesting," Richard said. She wondered if he realized just how sexual his smile was. That he probably didn't know just made it worse.

"Yes, but your sense of normal is wrong."

Richard chuckled, sipping his tea and starting to eat his own sandwich. "True… but you are very interesting. I mean, you're a very integral part of the hospital, though most people tend not to even want to think about the dead. Why did you pick it?"

"I just… they needed someone," Molly said. "I like that what I do is a way to help the living. Dealing with death can be very painful, especially if it's a loved one. I do what I can to help get the family what they need. I know I'm just a link in the chain for this… but without even one link, the chain falls apart."

"When I first saw you, besides thinking you were unbelievably adorable," he said, grinning at her blush and pout. "I felt… it was good for me, seeing someone tending to Jim. "It was good to know that someone would still care about how he looked, that someone cared what he wanted. He took what he wanted, but I don't think he had a lot of people who cared about what his wishes were."

"I didn't do much," she said.

"You did more than me," Richard said, "Jim would have hated the service. He thought the idea of God was laughable. He would have appreciated to caring for his appearance a lot more."

"I don't think it was much," Molly said.

"It is, don't discount yourself," he said, and Molly was suddenly very reminded of Jim. "What?" Richard asked, noticing Molly smiling.

"Nothing," Molly said, taking another bite of her food. "Your friend was just right is all."

"Uh-oh, I that bad?" Richard asked with a boyish smile.

"No, I don't think so," Molly said with a smile.

"Oh, well, I guess that's all I can ask for," Richard said, toasting her with his tea cup before draining it.


	9. Chapter 9

"Knock, knock, Seb, are you home?" Richard asked upon entering his brother's flat, a bag of his clothes slung over his shoulder.

"Did she finally throw you out?" Sebastian asked, looking up from where he was cleaning his riffle. Richard had watched Sebastian clean his weapons enough times that he was fairly certain that he could clean a gun on his own, though he'd never say that out loud to Sebastian, who got pissed enough when it turned out Jim could clean a weapon perfectly without having down it before.

"I'm moving out a bit at a time," Richard said. "Really, I just have to get out of there. The only reason I'm staying around at all is that I've got nowhere else to live," he said, setting down his knapsack.

"Do you plan to stay here?" Sebastian asked.

"Not really a good idea. I think I'd rather be homeless," Richard said rather earnestly. That finally got Sebastian to look up from his work. Sebastian mere held eye contact for a few moments and then looked away again.

"Have fun with that, more fun research, right?"

"No I did that already. I'm not really a fan of being homeless," Richard admitted.

"When did this happen?" Sebastian asked, never having heard the story.

"I was 19, basically as soon as Jim left after he ripped my rib out. I just didn't want to stay where he could find me."

"And he found you," Sebastian said.

"Two months later when he cared enough to wonder where I was," Richard said with a shrug. He leaned awkwardly against the wall, just watching the ex-sniper work.

"Yeah, well, that's Jim," Sebastian said, starting to pack his gear up.

"Uh, yeah," Richard said, only realizing just too late that he needed to say something.

"Do you need something?" Sebastian growled in exasperation. His hands didn't move any faster as he packed his riffle away in its case.

"Are you okay?"

"Really? Is that what you came the way down here to do? Check in on me?" Sebastian asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice in a way that was just very Jim.

"No, I came to drop off some clothes so that I'll have less things for Ms. Reilly to paw through while I'm away." Richard could hear the very Jim-like growl in his voice when he said it, and he noticed the way Sebastian's attention focused on him. "Look, Colonel… I don't know if you and Jim were… together, but-"

"We weren't," Sebastian said through clenched teeth.

"but-"

"We weren't!"

"But!" Richard said loudly. "I don't care, I honestly don't. You were as close as he could come to having a friend. I'm not sure how the will worked in relative terms, but I know that most if it goes to me, including all of Jim's properties."

"Including this flat," Sebastian said.

"Yeah. Sebastian, you know I absolutely don't want this place. What I want to know is if I can just give it to you without you arguing with me, or if I have sell it to you for a piss low price, because I'm not keeping it, and I'm not evicting you from your home."

Sebastian shook his head. "You're just as much of a bastard as he was, taking a man's pride away."

"Pride is vastly overrated," Richard said, pushing away from the wall and throwing himself down on the sofa. He had a specifically Jim-feeling inside himself. This was why he hated staying. He took on his brother's character too easily.

"That's what your brother used to say," Sebastian said, getting up and going to the kitchen. Richard wondered if to was to avoid being around him, but then Sebastian came back with two open beers and handed Richard one. As thanks, Richard moved his legs to Sebastian could take his seat back (instead of making him move). Then he just tossed his legs in Sebastian's lap, like he'd seen Jim do a hundred times. It didn't mean anything. Jim did stuff like that to everyone. "You're not Jim."

"Then push me off," Richard said, sipping his beer far more daintily than was necessary, making Sebastian snort. Sebastian got a highly devious look on his face and reached down.

"No shoes in the living room," he said, pulling Richard's shoes off, dumping them on the floor. Richard knew it was bad, but he didn't know what was going to happen until Sebastian clamped his arm over Richard's legs and started to tickle Richard's feet mercilessly. "Don't spill beer on the sofa," Sebastians added with a smirk.

Richard struggled helplessly. His cardigan and shirt and face were already covered with beer from where he'd snorted some up his nose when Sebastian first grabbed him. He was still having trouble chocking up the beer in his lungs. He couldn't struggle to hard to get away for fear of ruining the carpet or the sofa. He also couldn't get away because Sebastian had the most amazing and painful amount of force applied to shins all while still tickling Richard's feet with the ease of a practiced torture (which Richard would probably have supposed that Sebastian was, if Richard could have down anything but pray for death or to be let go at that moment.)

"I give, I give! You win! Fuck! Let me go!" Richard finally shouted.

Sebastian just started tickling worse. "Say pretty pretty please."

"F-fuck-ha ha- no-stop! You!" Richard gasped out.

"I can do this all day, darling," Sebastian purred in his best Jim imitation, which would have been funny on its own if Richard hadn't been seriously struggling to breath.

"Pretty-ha-p-pretty-p-please!" Richard shouted.

Sebastian smirked and let Richard go instantly. "All you had to do was ask." He proceeded to sip his own beer, which he had not spilled at all, despite being in the hand of the arm that held Richard down the whole time.

"Fuck you!" Richard snapped, sitting up and setting the can down on a coaster. He stripped off his shirt and cardigan, wiping the beer off his face with his shirt. He was still panting. His ribs hurt like a knife had been shoved between them and his feet were still tingling from the abuse. Richard stood, grumbling as he walked into Jim's room, grabbing his bag of clothes on the way through. He needed to wash the beer off.

Richard scowled, hearing Sebastian still laughing from the living room. "Bastard," Richard muttered, finding a wash cloth in Jim's bathroom and washing the sticky off himself as best he could. "No wonder Jim liked him," he added to no one, heading out to the bedroom and going to find a shirt.

It struck him and he dragged a clean shirt on that the flat, Jim Moriarty's flat actually belonged to him now. He owned it and everything in it that didn't have Sebastian's name scratched into it. That realization hit him hard, and he ended up sitting on Jim's bed, just staring off a bit stupidly. The idea that he could go through his brother's things seemed… impossible.

Richard jumped up and went to Jim's sock drawer, starting to riffle through it carefully. He was torn between speed and still not believing that Jim wouldn't appear around the corner and break his wrist for going through his drawers. Hence why he only bothered with the sock drawer. He didn't expect anything to be in there and Jim would probably be the least angry to see that Richard had gone through it.

That thought made Richard's eyes sting. He'd been cycling between incredible joy at not having to be afraid of Jim anymore, and the most soul crushing pain that Richard could even imagine. Molly was a nice distraction, but so far they'd only hate lunch dates, not a real date yet. Now that the will was about to be settled Richard could finally take her on a real date. He'd nearly lost his mind when he'd seen the production of _Othello_ at the Rose, and their upcoming production of _Macbeth_ already had his mouth watering already. Richard just kind of vaguely hoped that Molly wouldn't mind him dragging her to every theatre production he could find in London, now that he'd be able to afford to go.

Richard smiled at the thought, but frowned when his hand found something, velvet. Richard grabbed the thing, a box, and pulled it out. He carefully opened the box, which had two rings: a male and female engagement ring. "What the hell, Jim?" Richard murmured, pulling at the woman's ring. It was simple, classy, with a beautiful pear cut diamond.

Richard examined the outside, noting the matching white-gold of each bands. He wondered if maybe Jim had stolen it from some unlucky person. He doubted Jim would be keeping it for a 'friend'. The idea made Richard giggle. The giggles only increased at the idea that Jim might have been proposing to Sebastian. Richard hard to force himself not to try and figure out who would get the woman's ring. It was a completely silly thought and Sebastian would kill him if he knew that Richard had secretly hoped Sebastian was Jim's boyfriend.

Still smiled, Richard turned the woman's ring over, looking at the inside. His heart seemed to stop when he saw it. It'd been a whim to look inside. It was more popular to emblazon the inside with words of love or names now a days. Jim hadn't expected such a thing from Jim. If it had a name in it, then it meant the ring should have been from one of Jim's victims (though why Jim would keep it in his sock drawer was beyond Richard). Yet when Richard did see the engraving, he nearly dropped the ring. Instead he put the ring back very carefully, shut the box, put it back in its spot and carefully realigned all the socks.

"I'll drop more things off later," Richard said, heading out. He didn't let Sebastian speak to him and he hurried out. His heart was pounding too hard, and he didn't think he could have stopped if he wanted to. He ripped his new phone, Jim's phone, out of his pocket and sent Molly a sex message.

_Let's have lunch. You know where. ;) –RB_

He smiled at the instant response. ( _See you then –MH_ ) but still couldn't get his heart to stop racing as he ducked down into the tube to head toward St. Bart's and the nearby café. Engraved on the inside of the ring were two simple and devastating words: _Molly Moriarty._

* * *

Richard was tapping his foot more than a bit impatiently when Molly showed up at the café. Richard had already ordered tea, as well as sandwiches for them that could only be described as spicy chicken salad paninis. Molly had just told Richard to order for her at the café, since he seemed to know all the off the menu recipes. She'd told him that after eating the orange chocolate cheese cake. Richard ordered one of those too, for after lunch.

"Hey, have you been waiting long?" Molly asked, sitting down to sip her tea (Ceylon and Jasmine, as always).

"A bit, but it's not your fault, I didn't have anything else to do," Richard said, forcing his leg to stop moving. She didn't need to know about his panic. Jim was dead, and in any case, she had no idea how far Jim's obsession with her had gone.

"What do you do during the day?" Molly asked.

"Try to find a flat, mostly," Richard said. "I got a call last night. I'll get Jim's will settled tomorrow."

"Oh… so you'll have some place to live after that?" Molly asked.

"No, I don't want to stay in Jim's places," Richard admitted. "But, I did get tickets for a…our first real date. It's not very fancy… but I thought I'd take you some place I loved a lot… is that okay?" he asked, getting back into the awkward feeling of how he acted with her.

"It's wonderful, Richard," Molly said. "I don't ever feel like I get to know enough about you."

"Really?" Richard asked, a little stunned at that.

"You never talk about yourself expect in the context of yourself."

"Really?" Richard asked.

"Well, you ask me a lot of questions about myself. You talk about Jim a lot, and yourself by extension, but it's not really about you. I feel like I know Jim a lot better, though," she said with something of an ironic smile.

"Oh Christ, I'm so sorry!" Richard gasped. He reached out and took her hand. He noticed her smile and blush and he smiled too. He liked touching her, but he could tell it was always a jolt to her. She reminded him a bit of the old woman cat from _Cats_ , just so shocked that anyone would ever touch her. That made Richard want to kill people.

"It's okay," Molly assured him, lacing their fingers. She was taking more liberties, as small as they were, Richard loved that.

"Jim had a nasty habit of using anything I put out into the world against me. He practiced being a controlling bastard on me, and I practiced being an actor on him. The side effect of which is that I don't even talk about myself anymore. It's… hard… for me. I don't mean to be difficult, and please don't feel guilty. I have to learn how to get over my fear of giving people a way to control me if I tell them anything about me."

"Most people aren't as smart as Jim," Molly pointed out.

"True," Richard said with a smile. "Why don't… you try asking me some questions."

"We'll start out easy," Molly promised, squeezing his hand. "Really easy. First question: what is your favorite color."

Richard grinned and then he thought. "Well… normally I'd say I don't have one, that green looks good on me, but so does rust, or grey though that's not actually a color."

"But if you're being honest…" Molly said, getting where this was going.

"Pink," Richard said with a grin. "The color of baby skin. It seems like… innocence, life, things you can't help but love and want to protect."

Molly beamed, gripping his hand. "It's a favorite of mine too," she said.

"I know… too much hate for the color. It used to be seen as very masculine, that it was the color a boy should wear because blue was a feminine color, but red was masculine. Pink was a boy's color, once upon a time. I don't think many people know that."

"I did," Molly admitted. Richard smiled affectionately and pulled her wrist of tehri still clasped hands up and kissed her wrist.

"Next question," he said.

"What's your favorite food?" she asked.

"Grilled cheese," Richard answered instantly and Molly laughed.

"Favorite play?" She asked.

" _Othello_ ," Richard said.

"Really?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I've always wanted to try to play Iago… it scares me so badly… he remind me of Jim a lot… but I wanted to find my own Iago, separate from Jim… it's terrifying, and it would be so hard and I would suffer so much, but that's what would make it great," he said in a breathy voice. He blushed then, realizing that a little bit of who he really was had slipped out. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No… no, Richard…" she reached out, touching his cheek. "That's the most wonderful thing I think I've ever heard you say."

"Really?" Richard asked, honestly shocked.

"Really. You sounded so… absorbed, and passionate. It's like you weren't hiding at all."

"I wasn't, that was a mistake," Richard said in a grave voice. He gripped her hand tighter. "I'm trying Molly, I am, but this is hard."

"Then it will be great when you can," Molly said, squeezing back.

Richard smiled ruefully. "See, you're using my words against me too," he said, bitterness lacing his words.

Molly shifted forward and kissed the tip of Richard's nose. "A relationship can't work if you're playing the part of who you think I want you to be… it only works if both people are honest… and I know a play a part too, but I'm trying to not as well. It's hard… for everyone it's hard and I'm so damn shy and I wish I could have any confidence at all, and all I want to do is impress you… but for you that seems to mean that I have to find the courage to not hide… and it's so hard Richard. It's so hard," she whispered softly, like she was telling him a terrible secret.

Richard smiled, but there was a hard kind of understanding in his eyes. "I know… I really do," he told her. "I'll try… because me being myself is important to you, and because you're trying too."

"Thank you… see, I know you better already," Molly said with a sweet smile.

"I love it when you smile," he said. "There, you know something else," he said. He let go of her hand as the food arrived.

They ate for a bit in companionable silence. Molly let a few happy moans when she first bit into her food. Richard noticed that she did this a lot. He decided to find it adorable, and not worry about how much it screwed with his libido. Though today she let out a wonderfully, terribly loud moan. She proceeded to continue to make cute little happy noises which were far more erotic then they had any place being. Richard cross his legs at the knee and was damn glad for the table.

"So, what did you do today?" Richard asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Molly asked.

"Yes, why?" Richard asked.

"All Jim wanted to do was talk about cadavers and Sherlock Holmes," she said with a shrug.

"Which was the only thing your day was about, right?" Richard asked with a heavy sigh. He knew about people coming to try and get information about Sherlock from her.

"Yes, unfortunately… what about you?"

"Desperately trying to move out of Kitty Reilly's flat," Richard said. "You don't happen to know a place I could lease for just a bit until I could find another place… what?" he asked, noticing Molly biting her lip, something she only did when she didn't want to admit something.

"I… well, I do know a place, but I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Can't be worse than being with Ms. Reilly, or in Jim's flat," Richard said blankly.

Molly still hesitated, chewing on her lower lip and sighing heavily. "John moved out of 221b Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson really needs a new tenant."

"Oh… yes, I see why that might be a problem," Richard said. "Um… did she ever meet Jim?"

"Not that I know of," Molly said.

Richard sighed heavily. "You think she might give me a chance if I… if you went with me?"

"You want me to ask her a favor?"

"The only person I know who knows her is Doctor Watson, and while he's never tried to kill me, I'm not certain he won't wake up one day and decide it's a good idea. I don't want to bother him."

"Oh, well, when you put it that way," Molly said, taking a bite of her sandwich. She let out a happy moan that made Richard clench his legs together tighter. He was glad for her taking time to sip her tea. "How about I call her now and go with you after work?"

"Sounds like the most brilliant thing I could imagine."

Molly grinned and pulled out her phone. "Yes, Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Yes, it's Molly Hooper. Yes, it's lovely to hear you again as well. Listen, have you found anyone for 221b yet?" She glanced at Richard and smiled at him. "No, I have someone. No, he's my… well, my boyfriend." Both she and Richard blushed at that. "He needs a place to stay for a while. He's willing to pay rent, of course. I'd just like you meet him…. His name is Richard. Yes, it's probably just temporary, so you can keep trying to find someone if you don't like him, but you'll still have someone paying rent," she said. "Yes, can we come by this evening? Yes… of course he's a good guy. John knows him. No, his old flat was leased and the roommate he was boarding with is really awful… his brother just died recently." Richard could hear sympathetic cooing sounds on the other end. "Okay… alright, I'll bring him by once I finish with work. Thank you Mrs. Hudson." She hung up.

"So…" Richard said, still blushing. "Am I your boyfriend?"

Molly's blush came back with a vengeance. "I… don't know… do you want to be?"

"Well… that was the plan eventually. I don't mind you calling me that now, though."

"Then I guess you're my boyfriend," Molly said with a suddenly very brilliant grin.

"I guess that makes you my girlfriend," Richard said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Mmm, this is good," he said, just realizing it because he'd been so distracted by Molly before.

"I'm your girlfriend," Molly said with a wonderful smile. Richard couldn't remember exactly when he'd felt so happy. He wasn't even thinking about Jim at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Richard went back to Jim's flat to get one thing before meeting Molly at work. They took the tube to as close as they could get to Baker Street and walked the rest of the way. Unlike Sherlock Holmes, neither could truly afford to take a cab everywhere, though Richard would soon be able to, he'd never be able to think of himself like that.

"What parts do you want to play?" Molly asked.

"If I could play any part?" Richard asked. "You want my list? Okay, I want to be Iago, and Stanley from _Streetcar named Desire_ , and Mortimer and Jonathan Bruster from _Arsenic and Old Lace_. I want to be Tevya though I doubt I can sing, and I want to be Edward P. Dowd, and want to be John the Baptist. Have you seen _Cotton Patch Gospel_? No, I know you haven't, there's no way you have, but I'd love to do the whole thing, a one man show like it's supposed to be. I want to play John Adams, hopefully from _1776_ , not that I think they'll let an Irish-man play him if they ever heard my real accent, but I just want to. I'm like to be Judas to, I don't care in what, I don't like to try. I'd want to play Jesus too, again, I don't care in what. I think I'd like Lyndon Johnson, and Willy Lowman, and Peter the Great, and Aristotle… I'm sorry, I've gone off on a tangent."

"No," Molly said, grinning like a fool. "It's lovely. I've never heard you be so excited about anything before."

Richard blushed scarlet. "I sound like a crazy man."

"You sound like an ambitious actor," Molly said.

"Not really ambitious. I'd play a carrot if I could just get a part at this point in my life." He felt the frown on his face turn into a smile when Molly reached out and took his hand.

"People might forget," she pointed out.

"Unless I move to America, unlikely," Richard said. "I about shot myself in the foot. Who's going to want to hire me to play any part? Or if they do, it'll just be to play Jim… which is just the last damn thing in the world I want to play."

"Maybe you shouldn't worry about it yet," Molly said. "Let's talk about something else."

"What do you want to know?" Richard asked. He could tell she had a question she wanted to ask him.

"Well… it's a bit… invasive," she said.

Richard smiled a bit. "I'm a big boy, I can handle it," he said.

"Natalia… I mean, she's very beautiful… what I meant is… "

"Why did we break up," Richard filled in. "You can say it."

"Why did you break up," Molly said, her cheeks now very pink.

"Let me put it to you this way, basically any relationship I had that broke up had to do with Jim," Richard said.

"Did he threaten her?" Molly asked.

"He would sometimes, but he realized that it really bothered me enough that I'd yell at him when he did that. That and Natalia had a crush on Jim, so he couldn't really… threaten her because she'd just stick around anyway," Richard tried to explain.

"Really? And she knew what he was like?"

"We were all very young," Richard said with a shrug. "But I knew anyway and I didn't care. She was sweet to me and she stuck around me even though Jim hated her, and I cared about her very much."

"So why did you break up?" Molly asked.

"Well… see, I need to talk about Jim a bit more before I can get to that," Richard explained. He was trying to tell her about himself, but this wasn't a story he could talk about without Jim.

"It's okay Richard… you don't have to never talk about him," Molly said.

"Yeah," Richard said, feeling a bit dumb. "So… Jim's always been very good at reading people. Your friend… Mr. Holmes seems like he was very good at reading clues, but not exactly people or motivation. Jim could read people, manipulated people… but not always for bad. If Jim didn't like one of my girlfriends it became easier for him to find another man for them. It was easier for me if they found someone that made them happy. You remember that movie um… _Good Luck Chuck_?"

"You saw that?" Molly asked.

Richard snorted. "God, no, it looked awful."

"It was," Molly said with a smile and a little blush.

"Yeah, I remembered it because that was kind of what my life seemed like to me. I'd date a woman and then life, aka: Jim, would find them their perfect mate."

"Oh," Molly said, suddenly getting a picture of what that would have been like for him. She moved a bit closer. Richard frowned for a moment before grinning, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

"Jim would have made the best matchmaker in the village," Richard said, starting to hum the tune to "Matchmaker, Matchmaker." Molly giggled when she finally understood. "Yeah… so I like Tim, Natalia's husband. He's a good guy, even if I make him a bit uncomfortable. Natasha doesn't spend a lot of time with me anymore because it makes Tim uncomfortable. I can't blame him," Richard added. He glanced at Molly. "What?"

"Nothing," Molly said, a warm smile on her lips and in her eyes. "You're a good man Richard… I was just feeling… very lucky," she admitted, blushing and looking away. "I think it would make sense for you to not ever want to see me."

"Why?" Richard felt flummoxed by her words.

"I… went on dates with your brother."

"I'm not going to hold that against you," Richard assured her. He felt a knife in his gut anyway, thinking of the ring.

"I'm excited for our first official date," Molly said. "Though, I also like the idea of all those lunch dates being real dates too," she said.

It was Richard's turn to blush now. "Christ woman! Are you trying to kill me?" he asked, rubbing his chin in some half-hearted attempt to hide his blush. Molly giggled.

Shortly afterward they arrived at Baker Street. Richard glanced up and down the buildings, deciding fairly quickly that he really liked the location. Molly rang the doorbell and he stood to the side, looking down the hall.

"Molly, dear," Richard heard from behind his back. He could hear the sounds of Molly being dragged into a hug. He smiled secretly, glad the woman couldn't see him yet. His face had been plastered everywhere between the trial and the confessions of Richard Brooke. "Do, come in, I have tea on."

"Come on Rich," Molly said, grabbing his hand and dragging him inside. Richard was led back into a kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson… this is Richard, my boyfriend," she said, sounding shy.

Richard got a good view of Mrs. Hudson then, she went from delighted to horrified the second she got a look at Richard's face. "I'm sorry!" He said instantly, nearly a cry. He remembered being a boy and having the same near-cry ripped of him when he could feel his parents getting angry… and Jim's strong silence.

"Mrs. Hudson, please," Molly said, helping the woman into a chair. "Please, it's not him, it's not, I promise."

"How?" Mrs. Hudson asked, looking betrayed. "Why are you here?"

"Ma'am I'm not…" Richard felt at a loss for words and then reached into his pocket, drawing out what he'd gone back to Jim's flat for: the picture of the both of them as boys at their birthday party when they were small. They had the same scruffy black hair, the same wide brown eyes. "Ma'am… I'm Richard... Brooke now… Jim was my brother."

"She said your brother died recently," Mrs. Hudson said, looking at the picture. Molly moved around behind Mrs. Hudson, clearly curious about the picture.

"Please be careful, that's precious to me," Richard said. They wouldn't know how much those words would cost him. Admitting something was important was admitting that hurting that thing was a way to hurt you. "He did die recently… When… um… Mr. Holmes jumped… my brother, he, well, he um… he shot himself. I buried him two weeks ago."

"That's so late," Mrs. Hudson said, examining the picture.

Richard felt his hands clench, and his teeth grit together. "I could have done it sooner if Mycroft Holmes hadn't kept Jim's body on ice and out of sight for so long," he said. He could hear the anger in his voice. He had to let it go. "I'm sorry… it's not easy for me to talk about."

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, standing up and motioning Richard into the seat she'd just vacated before she began to move around, making tea. She seemed to have at least accepted him in some small capacity.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to Mr. Holmes," Richard said. "I've already spoken to Dr. Watson about it."

"Has he forgiven you?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"For whatever part I played in… what happened? I'm not going to ask for it," Richard said. "He's lost someone very important to him, and I had a hand in it because Jim said he'd finally leave me alone… it was very selfish of me. I'm not going to ask for it," Richard said. He felt pressure on his shoulder, and his eyes shot over to Molly, who was still standing next to him. She was squeezing his shoulder. Richard reached up, his larger hand covering her smaller one.

"You're looking for a room then?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Ah, yeah," Richard said. "My old flat no longer belong to me, and I'm stuck at Kitty Reilly's flat for now because my only other option is one of Jim's places and I'd rather walk in front of a bus than stay there." Richard paused, realizing how that sounded. "I know that having me here could be very hard for you, and I'll understand if you can't have me, but I can pay the rent in full and I probably won't stay any longer than it takes me to find another flat, especially if it's hard for you for me to be here."

Mrs. Hudson brought a cup of tea over to him, pushing it into his hands. "We'll see how it goes. Come on, I'll show you the rooms," she said, motioning for him to follow.

Richard took a sip of his tea (no milk or sugar, how he liked it), and stood up, following after her. He could feel Molly at his side as he was led upstairs to 221b. Richard was struck with two very different feelings. The first was sadness. Half of Sherlock Holmes' things were still there: the furniture, half the books, a skull, a mirror. The other was a feeling of home.

"It's brilliant," Richard said, looking around the flat. Between the wallpaper and the space and everything. "It's absolutely perfect," he said before blushing. "I mean good… yes." She hadn't told him he could stay. He couldn't let his mind start thinking about what he wanted to do with the room. He couldn't get attached just to let something else he wanted be ripped away from him.

"That's what Sherlock said when he saw it," Mrs. Hudson noted. Richard's eyes flicked up, meeting the older woman's gaze.

"I didn't… know… I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, it's okay," Mrs. Hudson said, reaching out and patting his arm. "We'll see how this works out. The bedroom is upstairs," she said, nudging him toward the stairs.

"What? Really?" Richard asked, looking stunned. "You mean it?"

"Yes, I think we can work something out, at the very least for a little while."

Richard looked honestly moved. "Thank you," he said; so much weight on the word. He noted it for later, for acting purposes, but for now it was genuine.

"Go see the room," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Thank you," Richard said, heading up the stairs to the bedroom.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," Molly said.

"Is he good?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"DO you actually trust my opinion?" Molly asked. "His brother fooled me pretty badly."

"What do you think of him?"

"He tries," Molly said. "He tries very hard to give me what he thinks I want and what I ask for. He tries to impress me and to make me happy… but he's not afraid to ask to me wait so that he can perfect whatever he'd doing for me. It feels… like a relationship because I want to do things for him and he lets me, but he seems to want to do things for me too. I like it," she said. "I like him."

"Is this really okay?" Richard asked, coming back down. He was smiling, but it was still unsure.

"Do you want to stay here?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Richard hesitated. "More… more than any place I've ever seen or lived in," Richard admitted.

"Then it's okay," Mrs. Hudson said.

"You… very kind, I… when do you want me to… move in?" he asked awkwardly.

"You can start moving in whenever you need to," Mrs. Hudson said. "How about you start tomorrow," she suggested.

"Yes… I can get what's left out of Ms. Reilly's place. I think Seb will let me crash on the sofa."

"Seb?" Molly asked.

"Oh… uh… Jim's…. friend? Is that the right word?" Richard asked and then shrugged. "You met him at the funeral.

"Oh, yes," Molly said. She looked curious. Richard couldn't tell if he'd just tried to walk around the fact that Sebastian Moran worked for Jim, or if he'd just suggested that Jim and Sebastian were in a relationship. Richard decided to leave it be, at least Seb might get sympathy from Mrs. Hudson if the sniper ever came over.

"So, tomorrow then," Richard said. "Thank you."

* * *

Tomorrow couldn't have come sooner for Richard. He was just so thankful to be out of Kitty Reilly's flat. It didn't help that he had to actually call Seb to come help him get everything. Kitty was a very ambitious, very hungry woman. Richard hadn't been completely sure she would have let him leave if Sebastian hadn't been massive and so obviously dangerous.

"Seb, you're a life saver!" Richard gasped when they took his only two other bags back to Jim's flat.

"If you hadn't been living with her, then Jim would have had to, we both know how that would have turned out," Sebastian said, waving off the thank you.

"Will you… would you mind helping me move in to my new flat tomorrow?" Richard asked.

"Where are you going to be living?" Sebastian asked, dropping Richard's bag in Jim's room and then heading to the kitchen.

"221b Baker Street," Richard said.

"Are you out of your tree?" Sebastian asked, stopping midstride. With a less fit man, he might have twisted his ankle stopping like that, but Sebastian was always in control of his body.

"Possibly," Richard said. "But you can see why I didn't want to tell you when Kitty was around," Richard said, tossing his bag into Jim's room and throwing himself down on the sofa. "Will you help me move?"

"Yeah," Sebastian said, going and getting two beers. He handed one to Richard and sat down next to him. "At least I'll be able to keep an eye on you," Sebastian said. He picked up the remote and turned the TV onto a specific channel. It took Richard only a second to realize that it was 221b.

"Of course he had the place bugged," Richard groaned. "Please do not use that!"

"I'm not making any promises," Sebastian said, smirking into his beer as he took a swig.

"You're an utter bastard," Richard said, taking a sip of his own.

"I'm helping you move tomorrow, aren't I?"

"Half a bastard then," Richard said.

"Damn straight," Sebastian said, changing the channel to a movie.

" _Patton_? Really?"

"Don't tell me you don't love it," Sebastian pointed out.

"Three-fourths a bastard," Richard muttered, snuggling back in the sofa to watch the movie.


	11. Chapter 11

Richard carefully packed everything into Seb’s car. He didn’t have much to pack really; he had his box, and three bags of things. He honestly probably didn’t even need Sebastian to come with him, but Richard honestly didn’t want to go by himself yet. Mrs. Hudson was letting him move in, but that didn’t mean that she was going to like him. She was kind enough and sympathetic enough to give him a place to stay for a little while. 

“I love this car, Seb,” Richard said, lounging back in the seat of the cherry red car he’d stolen to drive to the Diogenes’ Club. 

“You’re damn lucky that I didn’t skin you for that stunt you pulled. Don’t think I don’t know about you driving like a lunatic,” Sebastian growls, turning the car on and pulling out of the garage and heading out onto the road. 

“Come on, you know I used to do stunt driving. What I did is nothing compared to the jobs I used to have,” Richard said, cracking one eyes and smirking at Sebastian. 

“You really are the hands on twin,” Sebastian said. 

“I really pissed Jim off with that one,” Richard admitted. “But I was fresh out of prison and I honestly couldn’t give a shit about what he wanted and I’d really been… well, rather destructive… is this actually yours?” 

“Jim bought it for me,” Sebastian said with a shrug. “For the record, the car I had was just fine. It wasn’t even like that clunker you had.” Richard sighed heavily. He missed his car. “Then, I wake up one day and I see this downstairs. I think it was the only time Jim remembered by birthday,” Sebastian mused. 

“He doesn’t forget things like that,” Richard said, pulling his leg up to his chest. “He’d just selective about when he finds it important… though honestly I imagine he bought it for you the same way he’d buy a collar for a dog.” 

“An expensive diamond studded designer leather collar,” Sebastian said. A car like the one Sebastian now drove was a status symbol. It wasn’t a symbol of Sebastian’s wealth either. Sebastian never would have been able to afford it. It was one of the kinds where only about 40 people in the world owned one, and it cost about a million dollars for reasons passing understanding. Sebastian driving it was merely a sign of Moriarty’s ownership. 

“That was Jim,” Richard said with a heavy sigh. They pair of them lapsed into silence. Richard looked out the window, though in reality he was looking at Sebastian in the reflection. He wasn’t fooled. Sebastian had been playing more recently, but Richard knew that Sebastian wasn’t better. He was either trying to hide his mourning from Richard, or he was finding ways to distract himself from his mourning. 

“I know you’re watching me,” Sebastian said. 

“There’s no way you know all Jim’s tricks,” Richard said, but he chuckled a bit. “Seb, if I ask if you’re okay are you going to lie to me, tell me no, and get angry at me for asking.” 

“Probably not in that particular order, no. I’ll definitely get angry first.” 

“Seb,” Richard said, his voice much more insistent than normal. 

“I’m not okay Richard,” Sebastian said. It was like he was admitting to anything. He was merely explaining his status. “Unlike you, I don’t have a new girlfriend, and I don’t have a new flat to go to that had nothing of Jim in it. I don’t even really have a job since I don’t have to more. It’s just dawning on me that my stolen season has ended and if I want to actually live then I have to become normal and boring.” 

“There’s no way you’ll never be normal or boring,” Richard said. 

“According to Jim, I always bordered on being too boring to live.”

“Jim always lied,” Richard said. “If you were that dull then he’d never have you near him. Besides that, everyone bored Jim. He was so bored that he put a bullet through his skull rather than keep dealing with living.” 

Sebastian made a smacking noise with his lips. Richard eyed him in the reflection of the window again. It was such a great reflection that Richard imagined that Jim had that window especially designed so he could watch Sebastian from it. Sebastian obviously knew Richard was watching, he just didn’t know how much. 

Richard made notes of how Sebastian changed every time he saw him. He’d been doing this since the first time Richard met him. Richard did it with everyone to a greater or lesser extent. He didn’t forget people. He catalogued them, integrating what he learned from them into himself, into his acts. He would note exactly how people changed between each meeting, and would index what had happened in their lives. His mind was something like a statistical analysis database and a huge library of rolodex cards. His mind would flash up useful bit of information of each person, as well as the newest relevant data, just the essential bullet points, never too much. Yet when he was studying people his mind complied how any person he’d ever met acted and picked out the best possible reactions for certain scenes based on the collective data he had from people having been in similar situations and with similar personality types, multiplied by the statistical likelihood of said reaction, cross-referenced with classic roles and acts and actors.

Sebastian was probably Richard’s favorite subject to study. Sebastian integrated Jim into himself. Two people would begin to pick up the habits of each other given time if they shared close quarters. Jim didn’t integrate anything that he didn’t very purposefully mean to. People also didn’t generally act like Jim. Richard had never figured out if it was because Jim changed his outward personality so often with most people that no one could pick up on enough of Jim to mimic him unconsciously; or if people’s unconscious simply rejected Jim. 

But Sebastian did mimic Jim. He didn’t just mimic Jim, but took very specific Jim traits and integrated them so perfectly that they became perfectly Sebastian traits… traits that seemed to fit Sebastian so well that no one would never guess where they really came from… except for Richard. 

The trait Richard observed now on Sebastian was Jim’s very specific oral fixation. Jim was like a child never completely grown up. Jim always stuck things in his mouth, tasting things as much as he smelled or touched. Jim liked stinking things in his mouth so much that on his last day on earth her stuck a gun in his mouth a pulled the trigger just to have a chance to taste hot metal and gun powder.

Sebastian had never been a man who’d been the type to stick things into his mouth that he didn’t know what they were and knew damn well that those things were safe. He still wasn’t. At the same time, the Sebastian that Richard had met the first time would have never stuck a cigarette between his lips and inhaled smoke into his lungs. The Sebastian Richard met the first wasn’t a man who needed to have things between his lips. 

Driving along in the ridiculously expensive collar Jim had bought him, Colonel Sebastian Moran had a plastic toothpick between his teeth, the kind that Richard had seen a plenty in a little plastic cup in Jim’s kitchen. They belonged in finger food and Jim had such an array that Richard was sure that Jim stole them. Richard had snatched one with a purple mermaid on it that he found amusing. Sebastian had a plain, unadorned, but pink one stuck between his teeth. 

The pink toothpick spun on Sebastian’s lips, and Richard had to wonder if that were a conscious move, a small bit of seduction, suggestion of what he could to; or if Sebastian was merely bored and twirled the toothpick on his tongue the way some people twirled a pencil in their fingers. Either way, it was a completely Sebastian move, showing through motion that you’d never have his full attention, unless it was very important. It was also a very Jim thing to do. 

“I’ll bring the deed over sometime this week,” Richard said, simply to break the silence. They were getting closer to Baker Street and Richard felt nervous as well. He didn’t feel like wondering about Sebastian when he was starting to feel the knots in his stomach.

“It’s fine. I don’t think the landlord will kick me out.” 

“But still… are you sure you want to stay there?” Richard asked. 

“It’s home, Richard,” Sebastian said. That was the end of the discussion. For whatever Sebastian felt about Jim, for however the man had or had not changed Sebastian’s life, Sebastian had lived in that flat and made his home there. He didn’t want to leave, and not even the ghost of Jim Moriarty cloud chase him out. 

“Thanks for helping me move,” Richard said as they pulled up to a parking space. Richard sighed wistfully. In a perfect world, Baker Street would have a garage where he could put his old clunker, but in reality parking would always be a pain around Baker Street. “You don’t have to stay long,” he added. 

“Just tell me that you desperately want me to stick around to act as a buffer between you and an old lady,” Sebastian said with a smirk, hoping out and grabbing all over Richard’s bags in one go, just to show off. Richard grabbed his shoe box. 

“She knows you know Jim,” Richard said. 

“Knew,” Sebastian corrected. The word stuck hard between them. Sebastian cleared his throat. “When are you getting the rest of your crap out of storage?” 

“Not yet, I need to take stock of what I do and do not need. I don’t think this will be permanent.” 

“Meaning you don’t want to get too badly attached even though this place makes your heart go pitter pat,” Sebastian translated. 

“The hell, Seb! When did you learn to read me so well?” Richard snarled, annoyed that Sebastian could see everything. 

“You’re like a less complicated Jim,” Sebastian said simply, walking up the stairs and ringing the doorbell. Richard felt like someone had stuck a knife in his chest.

“You made it,” Mrs. Hudson said when she opened the door. Richard moved up the stairs and around Sebastian. 

“This is Sebastian Moran,” Richard said. “He’s just dropping off a few things.” 

“So few,” Mrs. Hudson said, leading the pair of them up to 221b. 

“I had to travel light,” Richard said simply. He set his shoe box down with the love and care of a man carrying his own child. Sebastian simply dropped the bags on the floor. “Seb, isn’t it beautiful?” 

“Yeah, gorgeous,” Sebastian said, putting on a fake lisp. He smirked when Richard turned and gave him the evil eye. “So, where do I drop off the bags?” 

“My bedroom is upstairs,” Richard said. 

“Why up there?” Sebastian asked, but scooped up the clothes bags and took them upstairs. The third bag were the knick-knacks: toiletries and towels and things in that general area that didn’t specifically need to go into the bedroom. 

“Why don’t I put on a pot of tea?” Mrs. Hudson suggested. 

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Richard said. 

“But just this once dear. I’m not your house keeper.” 

“Of course Mrs. Hudson, I’ll try to keep things clean,” Richard said with a nervous smile. It only got more nervous when she paused to look at him for a moment before moving into the kitchen. A moment later her vaguely heard the normal sounds of making tea. He let out a tense sigh and took his other bag down the hall to the bathroom. He carefully unpacked before moving around the rest of the flat. 

He was sure that most of the furniture belonged to Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t want to move things around so much that Mrs. Hudson would feel like he’d violated the space, yet he also needed to feel like he could live there. The first thing he did was something very simple: he lay the knit blanket his cousin had made for him over the squishy grey chair. That one would have been Sherlock’s. It was obvious by the way it looked and where it sat, able to see the front door and everything in the flat. Its placement showed the partiality to paranoia that Richard imaged Sherlock Holmes probably had, just like Jim. The make was also a perfect example of the Holmes image too, at least the one Sherlock portrayed. Richard liked the chair instantly because he wasn’t at all like Mycroft Holmes.

The next thing he did was take out the few books he had before he began rearranging Sherlock’s shelf. Sherlock’s shelf was like Jim’s, and also a bit like Richards: arranged in a way that looked random but also had a specific meaning to the arranger. It was another sign of that paranoia. In Richard’s case his paranoia came from knowing Jim. Richard had been purposefully cryptic for a long time now. 

“Making yourself at home?” Mrs. Hudson asked. Richard didn’t jump. He never wasn’t aware of the sounds she or Sebastian made as they moved around. 

“Just a bit of rearranging,” Richard said. “I’m not going to throw anything out,” he added. To Sherlock’s shelf he’d added three books: the large copy of the first folio of Shakespeare’s work, written in the original old modern English. Richard’s paperback copy of the plays of Tennessee Williams. The book-swap copy of short Ray Bradbury stories that Kitty had bought Richard. All of Richard’s other books were in storage. 

“Do you not have more than this?” Mrs. Hudson asked, setting the tray with tea down on one of the side tables. 

“Yes, but it’s mostly in storage,” Richard said. “It’s a bit of a pain to deal with. I’ve been homeless before, this is nothing,” he added.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Are you alright?” 

“It was a long time ago,” Richard said. “I mean, after I got out of prison, I got framed for something petty Jim did… and right before I started to do stunt work… it’s been a long time,” he added. “I’m sorry, I know I sound insane. Thank you for the tea,” he said. He moved around the older woman to pour himself and Sebastian a cup. 

“Okay, everything’s unpacked,” Sebastian said as he came down. “Not that there was much to unpack Did you finish down here?” 

“Keep your shirt on,” Richard said, sipping his tea before setting it down. He opened his last bag up the rest of the way, pulling out the remaining items: a way overpriced wooden chess set that Richard had gotten in Russia that one time Jim had sent him. A three inch high wooden cross that Richard stood up on the mantel and a frilly throw pillow that Richard had gotten from an ex girlfriend. He tossed the throw onto the sofa. “There, done,” he said, starting to zip the bag closed. 

“I don’t see how you needed me for this,” Sebastian said, taking his own tea cup. “Thank you,” he said to Mrs. Hudson. Sebastian held his cup at the rip, from the top when he sipped tea as he did now: standing. Richard always gripped the handle, his pinky moving slightly off from the alignment of his fingers; a left over from the summer he’d held his pinky out while drinking tea as practice for a part he never got. 

“It would have been difficult for me to carry all this stuff on the tube,” Richard pointed out. All of his bags were shoulder bags. He didn’t have the fancy kind with wheels, never had. “Thank you for helping, by the way, I owe you one.” 

 

“Whatever,” Sebastian said. “Mm,” he said, sipping his tea again. “This is very good.” 

“Thank you,” Mrs. Hudson said, turning her eyes to Sebastian with a certain amount of kindly womanly interest. “You were Richard’s Brother’s Friend?” she asked. There was a certain emphasis on the word ‘friend’ that made Richard what to groan. 

Sebastian paused to actually pull his toothpick out of his mouth. “I’m not gay, ma’am,” he said very evenly. He didn’t sound offended at all. He was merely informing her where she’d been misinformed. “Jim was just a friend.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Hudson said. 

“No, it’s fine. I think Richard kind of hoped I would mellow Jim out if I was sleeping with him,” Sebastian said. “Sorry,” he added, seeing the slightly disapproving look he won for his bluntness. 

“No offense taken,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Now, I’m going to leave you two be. I’m afraid I don’t want to be party to the redecorating,” she said as she walked down the stairs. 

“Do you actually plan to redecorate?” Sebastian asked. He sat down in the chair that had obviously belonged to Dr. Watson. 

“Not really,” Richard said, going back to rearranging the books. “Hey, Seb, would you mind getting me a poster of some kind for this room, just one. I want something tasteful, I don’t need a lot,” he added.

“Would you like me to sweep the floor too and fluff the pillows you’re her majesty?” 

“Seb, shut up,” Richard said, rolling his eyes.

“You let her think I was screwing your brother because you didn’t want to tell her the truth. You picked the most convenient lie for you because it’s easier to explain that I keep hanging around because I was in love with your brother, whether that’s true or not,” Sebastian said. 

Richard sighed heavily. “Sebastian, I’m sorry.” He sounded like he really meant it. 

“It’s fine,” Sebastian said. “I forgive you. Now finish you tea before it gets cold. You can mess with the books later.” 

Richard’s mouth tugged up just slightly into a smile. He set the book back on the shelf where he’d plucked it from before picking up his tea cup. He gripped the outer rim of the cup from the top, trying to see if it was any better the way Sebastian held it.


	12. Chapter 12

"Hey you, and me, keep on dancing in the dark, never known what we are! Hey you and me keep on tryin'a play it cool, now it's time to make a move and that's what I'm gonna do!"

"Richard," Sebastian said, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I thought this was something only Jim did."

"What? Dance? Sing badly?" Richard asked, letting the pop-stars sing the song as he did some dance move that couldn't have even been cool when it was invented.

"No, this show, this fucking sound track, what the hell?" Sebastian. Watching Richard shift into some move that involve hand clapping and shaking shoulders. Richard could be graceful when he wanted to be, and as stupid as the dance looked, Richard knew exactly what to do with his body.

"I don't know about Jim, but Molly got me attached to it," Richard said. "Light up the world to night!" he sang along,

"I will murder you if you don't stop singing," Sebastian said, throwing himself onto the chair that used to belong to Sherlock Holmes.

Richard laughed, tossing himself into Watson's chair. "Come on, it's a good acting exercise, playing along to the music."

"You're not secretly harboring the dreams of being an American teeny-bopper sensation?" Sebastian asked.

Richard let out a loud peel of laughter, laying back in the chair he occupied once he could stop laughing. "I swear," he said when he could finally stop laughing. "Can you just imagine me in some technicolor hoodie?"

"Yes," Sebastian said without inflection.

Richard shook his head. The flat had changed barely at all since Richard had moved in. Certainly it was much cleaner, and the furniture had been rearranged to a certain extent. The books on the shelf were in a completely different order, not that anyone would notice. Though the three people who'd seen the flat had seen the difference: Richard because he did it, Sebastian because he had to be that observant, and Mrs. Hudson because she'd cleaned Sherlock's books for so long.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Richard asked. His room had changed the most. It had been Dr. Watson's room, and Richard had completely rearranged it, added some nice movie posters that Sebastian had brought him ( _Casablanca_ and _Arsenic and Old Lace_ were posters that had hung in some of Jim's hide outs. Richard didn't comment on that). It looked liked Richard's room. The room that had been the least bothered was the room of Sherlock Holmes. Richard went in every few days to keep the dust from settling, but other than that the room stayed exactly as it had been.

"Mrs. Hudson offered me a batch of biscuits is I helped her with a bit of house work," Sebastian said with a smirk.

"Dammit, how do you get every woman to fall in love with you?" Richard grumbled. "I've been here for a month and she still barely tolerates me," he sulked.

"Do you leave a mess for her to clean up?" Sebastian asked.

Richard scoffed. Even Sebastian knew it was a stupid question. If Jim was the neat freak, Richard was the neat maniac. He kept everything as perfect as he could and was just this side of obsessive compulsive. "No, you know exactly why she hates me," he said, slumping down in his chair.

"Maybe you should spend less time inside," Sebastian said. "Go and try to find a job."

"No one will hire me."

"Now come on, Richard, if you're going to lie to me, at least try and make it a teensy bit convincing," Sebastian said with a smirk, getting up and plucking a book off of Holmes' shelf, starting to thumb through a guide on practical bee-keeping.

Richard scowled. "Sometimes you're too like Jim for your own good," he said. He bit down a smile though when Sebastian turned and flashed him a far too innocent grin. Yep, way too like Jim. "Seb, if they would hire me, it would be because they want Jim, not me. They want me to play Jim Moriarty, or they want to advertise as 'the first appearance of Richard Brooke since his role of Jim Moriarty'. They don't want me or my skills. They want Jim," Richard grumbled.

"Maybe you should stop complaining so much," Sebastian said.

"I'm sorry I can't be a stone wall, like you."

"Okay," Sebastian said, starting to get annoyed. "Look at it this way: if Jim hadn't so publically made himself into Richard Brooke and Sherlock Holmes a fake, then every criminal organization in the world would be after you for your help, especially after that fucking trial."

"Oh," Richard said, feeling a bit rocked by the words. He'd never considered that, but what's more, it meant that Jim had been planning everything, even possibly his death, since before the trial. And Sebastian recognized that too. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"Damn right, I'm right," Sebastian muttered. "I'm borrowing this, by the way," he said.

"What are you going to do with a book on bee keeping?"

"No idea, but it doesn't remind me of anything to do with your brother, so I think I'll enjoy it. Any problems with that?" Sebastian didn't want any of Richard's sympathy.

"No, it's probably a good idea," Richard said, standing up. He stretched a bit, his arms clasped as they reached for the sky. He brought them down out straight in front of him, rolling his shoulders simultaneously. "I think I should go out for a bit."

"Visiting Molly's flat?" Sebastian asked, his nose back in the bee keeping book.

"It's not like I'm going to pop by Kitty's and say hello," Richard said, grabbing a jacket and his keys as he went out. No goodbyes necessary. Sebastian didn't even look up from his book.

* * *

Molly Hooper had Sunday off, every Sunday. She also got off early on Saturday evening and Wednesday evening. Those were when Richard took Molly out for an evening. But Sunday wasn't a day they often met. Molly had told Richard that mostly she kind of liked her day off as a chore day. He'd stopped by once or twice and helped her with her chores. He could still remember how she blushed at him washing her bras. It was so cute, but when he was cleaning he didn't see anything by the task at hand and so he probably wouldn't have even noticed or care if he'd been cleaning Hitler's undies. Molly's squawking only brought his attention to what he'd been doing.

Molly was what broke up Richard's monotonous weeks. Richard had seen more crap telly in the past month than he thought he had in his entire life time. He also had the bad luck of running across some Bug Bunny cartoons and bursting into tears the same time Mrs. Hudson had come up to deliver jam (even if she hated him, she'd still take care of her tenant). Trying to figure out how to explain exactly why he was sobbing over a cartoon had been one of the more difficult things he'd ever done. He'd finally just told the truth when he'd been able to stop crying and speak. ( _"The last time I saw any of these was the last time… the last time… the only time I saw Jim really hurt. Please, I don't want to talk about it."_ ) She'd left it alone, but she seemed even more unsure of him than she had before.

But Molly was Richard's savior. He spent more time planning their dates than anything else during the week. He tried to surprise her, to impress her. She'd enjoyed seeing _Macbeth_ at the Rose, and she'd allowed him to geek out about it the entire rest of the evening and when he apologized she'd just giggled and kissed his cheek. It was one of the few times he let himself out around her. He wasn't pretending or hiding, he was just getting caught up in his own excitement. The problem was that the only time he did that was when he was talking about acting. He wondered when she'd get sick of him talking about himself only in a context of acting and demand more.

That prospect worried him, because he wasn't really sure what else to share with her. He had a lot of stories, but even when he got his courage up to tell her, he would falter. It felt like he couldn't tell her, that he shouldn't, that she'd leave him if he told her. He certainly didn't see himself as strong or self assured or any of the other things Jim had been. His most interesting stories involved Jim, also his most painful. When in doubt, he'd switch to a story that involved Jim. Molly constantly had to remind him not to do that. He'd always and try to tell her another story, but they were never as interesting.

Richard sighed and scrubbed his face over his hands. He knocked on the door to Molly's building and her landlady answered. The woman let him right in without a word. She'd been doing that an awful lot recently. At first she'd questioned him endlessly about who he was and why he was there, even after Molly had introduced him, but for the past two weeks the woman just let him in and otherwise ignored him. He simply offered a smile and bound up the stairs to Molly's flat, knocking on the door.

"Hold on!" Molly called. Richard smiled. He didn't normally surprise her like this. He'd surprised her once by coming down to her work. She'd been so shocked and so flattered that he'd come to walk with her to lunch, even when it was only to the cafeteria, but then she understood how uncomfortable the dead made him feel.

After a few moments of waiting, Richard wondered if maybe he should have called before he arrived, since maybe she was still in her night clothes or something. The startled look on Molly's face when she saw him clenched it. "I'm sorry," he said instantly. "I should have called first, I'm so sorry."

Molly looked shocked for another moment before reaching out and gripping onto Richard's jacket. "No," she said. "Well, yes, you probably should have, but I'm glad you're here," she said, tugging him inside. "Would you like to go out and have lunch?" she asked. "Just let me get my shoes."

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt anything?" He asked, glancing around her flat, which could use another scrubbing, and which she clearly hadn't been cleaning. She was also completely dressed and she looked like she was dressed up nicely too, to meet someone. This wasn't something she'd done in a hurry.

"No, nothing, so, lunch?" she asked, quickly pulling heels on that he knew she hated because they hurt her feet, but she'd worn them on their first real date because she'd wanted to impress him.

"Molly, who's here?" Richard asked. He could feel rejection settling in his stomach. Couldn't she have just told him?

Molly looked up at him, looking momentarily stumped. "Richard… please, don't think like that," she said softly.

"Look, I know I'm not smart like Jim, but I am his brother and I'm not an idiot," Richard snapped. He saw the hurt in her eyes and he looked away. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Can you just tell me who it is?"

"I can't," she said. Her voice sounded so agonized. She was pleading with him to understand.

"Why?" Richard asked. "You think I'll do something? There's nothing I would do even if I could."

"Richard, please, please, can we just go to lunch?" she asked.

Richard didn't look up at her. He did look around, though. His eyes fixed on the closet. "Yeah, okay, why don't you get your coat? It's a bit chilly outside."

"No, I'll be fine," she said.

"Oh come on," Richard said. "You're kind of bad at this, by the way," he said, walking to the closet and grabbing the handle.

"Richard, please," Molly said.

"Oh come on, I wouldn't take you outside without a coat when it's this chilly outside, even if I didn't know you'd shoved him into the coat closet," Richard said, pulling the door open. What he saw inside was truly not what he expected.

He wasn't sure who he expected to see, but Sherlock Holmes was not it. The man pushed his way out of the coat closet, looking annoyed. "I told you this was a terrible idea, Molly," he said, looking annoyed at having been stuffed in a closet when it didn't work.

"I'm sorry," Molly said softly.

"So," Richard said, trying to get his thoughts together. "This is why you didn't want me to see?"

"Yes," Molly said softly. She couldn't look at the two men sizing each other up.

"You thought I'd be angry?" Richard asked.

"Yes," Molly said again in the same soft tone.

"Doofus," Richard muttered, tearing his eyes away from Sherlock Holmes and ignoring him completely. He grabbed Molly and dragged her into a hug. He was relieved, very relieved. Okay, so she had a crush on Sherlock Holmes, but at least she wasn't hiding another lover from him, and she didn't think he'd be like Jim and do something.

"Richard!" Molly gasped. She had not expected to be dragged into a hug.

"Yes, dear?" Richard asked with a smile.

"Why aren't you angry?"

"Angry? Why would I be, this is great!" Richard said before turning to look at Sherlock Holmes.

"Am I supposed to call you Richard?" Sherlock asked with a scoff.

"I mean, yeah, it's my name," Richard said, sticking his tongue out at Sherlock Holmes, who looked properly taken aback. "You're just like Jim too, no wonder he was so obsessed," he grumbled, hugging tighter to Molly as if she were a security blanket he hadn't been sure he'd ever see again.

"Richard Brooke," Sherlock said, really seeing it. "Fascinating," he said, moving over to a chair and throwing himself down in it. "Molly said Jim had a twin, but then you know how gullible she is."

"And you got taken in by Jim the first time too," Richard said, having gotten Jim's first hand gloating on that little adventure.

"And you were the one telling Kitty Riley the story," Sherlock said. "A fine bit of acting," he added.

Richard couldn't help but smirk at that. "Yeah, that's still not going to get me to move out of your flat. I like it there, thank you very much."

"Don't worry, I won't be needing it for a while," Sherlock said.

"Why?" Richard asked. It suddenly occurred to him that if Sherlock was alive that he should have come back a while ago, and that John Watson should know. "Oh," Richard said. "Jim really is a bastard," he said, finally getting it.

"Not the most eloquent word, but fairly apt," Sherlock said.

"So, tell me," Richard said.

"Tell you what?"

"What happened on the roof. Tell me," Richard demanded, throwing himself down on the sofa right next to Sherlock Holmes.

"Jim Moriarty decided that I should jump off St. Bart's," Sherlock said. "When I figured out I could keep from having to jump so long as I had him, he decided to shoot himself."

"Of course," Richard said with a heavy sigh. "So, who did he threaten? Dr. Watson, right?" Richard asked. "But more than that, your face says. Don't worry, I'm just very good at this… so, Dr. Watson… and Mrs. Hudson? Right, of course, she adores you… and someone else I don't know, so no go on figuring that one out. Am I right?"

"Yes, exactly," Sherlock said.

"And you can't come out of hiding until you can be sure that those people won't die," Richard said. "Well… sorry about that," he said.

"Is there anything you can do?" Molly asked.

"Not unless you want me to pretend to be Jim for the rest of my life, no," Richard said, standing up. He offered Molly his best disarming smile. "So? Lunch?"


End file.
